


Don't Knock It Till You've Tried It

by IvyDevoss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyDevoss/pseuds/IvyDevoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel lives the life of an introvert, affectionately tolerated by his large and wacky family, until the new neighbor boy arrives and turns everything upside down and inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Schubert and Schumann and Lapsang Souchong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/525493) by [IvyDevoss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyDevoss/pseuds/IvyDevoss). 



> This is the companion piece to my story “Schubert and Schumann and Lapsang Souchong” – here we see the same events taking place through Castiel’s eyes rather than Dean’s. If you haven’t read the other story yet, I would advise reading it first, but I suppose this could also stand alone. Like Cas and Dean, though, they’re better together.

Castiel was used to being the strange one. Even in his family, which was the strangest family he knew, he was still the strange one. If he’d bothered to spend his time analyzing this, he would probably have concluded that it was for a combination of several reasons, including but not limited to the following: he had never gone to school and had no idea what it was like; he had odd and multifarious interests and hobbies; he had a large vocabulary and an old-fashioned manner about him; and he had very big eyes and didn’t blink much. There were plenty more aspects of his personality that could add to the general impression of eccentricity, but the fact is, Cas didn’t waste any time trying to explain himself. He simply lived. There was so much to do and think and read and try and hear and see and experience!  
  
For instance, the boy next door. Cas wouldn’t mind experiencing him. Let’s be completely frank here: yes, Cas was quite observant, a habit he had consciously trained in himself from youth onward; but even if he’d been the most oblivious half-blind idiot in the universe, it would have been hard to miss Dean Winchester. Within two hours of arriving in the moving truck, Cas had figured out his distractingly attractive new neighbor’s name. He’d heard the boy’s mother calling it up the stairs through the open windows on the ground floor, and had filed the knowledge away for future reference. Hopefully not too far in the future.  
  
While Mike and Luc cracked themselves up improvising a jousting match using standing lamps as lances and the lampshades as (very ineffective) shields, Gabe took on the role of the announcer narrating every thrust and parry of the match, and Anna started lugging boxes into their new house, Castiel drifted around pretending to watch his brothers while actually peering up at the house next door. It was only a little while ago that Dean’s mother had called up the stairs to him, so he was probably still up there. There were four upstairs rooms that looked like they could be bedrooms. One was on the other side of the house and was still shuttered up, and another was large enough that Cas assumed it would be the parents’ bedroom. That left two to choose from... And there it was, a slight movement in the window of one of the rooms. He caught a glimpse of short tawny hair and a quick flash of green eyes. Cas had a weakness for green eyes. Actually, that hadn’t been true before, but now he suddenly realized it. It was irritating how few glimpses he’d gotten of this mysterious boy so far.  
  
Cas had to shift his focus elsewhere, however, when Father made his anxiety known about the fate of his beloved lamps and the others obediently stopped roughhousing and got back to work. It felt like it took forever to move all the boxes and furniture into the house, even though this was already their second trip with the moving truck. They just had a lot of stuff. Lots of old souvenirs and so on, things Father was fond of and couldn’t be convinced to part with. Luckily this house was large; there would be no shortage of space. The unpacking, though, could be started on tomorrow, the siblings all agreed, exhausted from their efforts.  
  
Luc and Mike concocted some dubious-looking cocktails for themselves and retired to the large screened porch at the back of the house, making it clear they were not to be disturbed. Gabe wheedled the car out of Anna and zipped off for the afternoon, and Anna herself declared she was in need of a long hot bath to soak off the grime of the day’s labors. That left Castiel to his own devices, a situation that had always been an agreeable one to him.  
  
Yes, as we’ve mentioned before, he was definitely the strange one. In any normal family he would instantly have been considered the black sheep, but luckily no such ostracizing terminology was used around their family hearth. Castiel was simply Castiel, and his siblings both loved him and teased him for it. Although the rest had gone to school like normal human beings, Cas had made it abundantly clear from the start that he was not going to put up with this. (He had always been very self-possessed, even as a small child.) At the age of five he had suffered through a total of three half-days of school: half-days because he had left each day at recess and walked home to announce to his startled (and rather amused) family that school was Not His Thing. Father had always believed that three was the magic number, so after this had happened thrice, Castiel was duly excused from attending school.  
  
This had left him with the time on his hands to pursue any weird fancy that crossed his mind––and, being a deliberate sort of person, he pursued them all, one after the other. Some, such as pottery, découpage, skiing, and owl-pellet dissection, hadn’t lasted. Others, such as reading, archery, painting (or as Gabriel called it “getting emotional and throwing globs of color all over the place”), and piano, had stuck. Although the last of these, Cas had to admit, had been rather a love-hate affair so far. There had also been French, though he hadn’t had much success with that. Each sibling had chosen a language to study, but the results were varied, to say the least. Mike had done very well with German; Anna was still in love with all things Italian but couldn’t speak it to save her life; Luc could get by in Spanish but didn’t seem very interested in it; and Gabe had announced to all and sundry his intention to study Latin, by which, it later emerged, he actually meant Pig Latin.  
  
But I digress. The point was, Castiel led a fulfilling and multifaceted life, and that, combined with his past experience of not having met many people who could understand him, meant that he tended to live somewhat in a world of his own. Quite satisfied with his own company, he didn’t give the impression of a loner, but would be hard-pressed to make a list of “friends” if asked. And yet, moving to this new neighborhood and catching sight of the boy who lived next door, Cas suddenly found himself wondering if it was time to polish up his rusty people-skills.  
  
***  
  
As afternoon light slanted towards evening and the house remained relatively quiet, Cas ventured into his new backyard to explore. There wasn’t much to see. The large lawn was bordered by a thin pine forest around two sides, and on the third side was the fence separating it from the neighbors’ yard. Near the fence was a scrawny honeysuckle bush and a small pile of bricks, while along the back of the yard was a drooping clothesline that had clearly seen better days. From here, he couldn’t even hear his older brothers’ voices from the porch.  
  
Cas was near the clothesline, wondering if any of these pathetically small trees were remotely climbable, when he heard the back screen door of the neighbors’ house creak and swing shut. The neighbor boy––yes, that one, the older one, the illegally good-looking one, Dean––had emerged into his own backyard, and was sauntering over towards the fence, peering around.  
  
Cas moved toward him like a shy magnet that’s just become aware of magnetic north for the first time. Dean didn’t notice him, but kicked desultorily at something on the ground. Soundlessly, Cas approached the fence and gazed at this beautiful stranger. He was perfectly built, clearly the athletic type, but with a certain sensitivity to his features, despite a deep-set wariness hidden in those enchanting green eyes. Yes, Cas definitely had a weakness for green eyes.  
  
The eyes in question were peering at the ground, brows knitted together above them, as Dean poked at some dead leaves with the toe of his shoe and stared disapprovingly down at the few bricks arrayed in a messy circle on the ground. “We’ve got some extra bricks over here, if you need them,” Cas offered.  
  
Dean looked up, right at him, and Cas wondered if this was the sensation romance novels intended to convey when they used the wholly inaccurate and medically alarming expression ‘My heart skipped a beat’. That distant wariness in Dean’s eyes briefly grew stronger, but then it was smoothly concealed behind a façade of cocky self-confidence. “Nah, I’m gonna put a grill out here. Thanks anyway, though.”  
  
Castiel couldn’t stop himself. The words began spilling out of him as if the floodgates had been unlocked by hearing Dean’s voice for the first time.  
  
“How long have you been here? Are you new to the neighborhood as well? It’s just, I noticed that you have a lot of boxes in your garage too. I think these are your bricks, actually, in any case; they match the ones you’ve got there. I’m not sure how they ended up on our side of the fence.” A thought struck him. “Unless you put them there, of course. But I don’t think you did; there’s no reason to. I’m Castiel, by the way. Most people call me Cas. And I think you’re Dean, right?”  
  
There was a short pause while Dean stared at him, mouth fractionally open. “Uh, yeah, right. Hi.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Cas said politely. “I saw you watching us from your room earlier. You didn’t think I could see you, but I could. Those were my siblings, by the way; Mike, Luc, Gabe, and Anna. They all have longer versions of their names too, of course, but I won’t trouble you with that. I don’t expect you’d remember them in any case. You didn’t answer my question...?”  
  
He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to know everything about Dean. He fervently wished it wasn’t considered socially inappropriate to hand an extensive personal survey to new acquaintances you wanted to know more about. Cas felt like he could come up with about forty questions to ask Dean right now––why had he moved here? What was his relationship with his brother like? Was it nice and peaceful, having only one sibling? What were his parents like? Were they a happy family? What had happened to instill that fight-or-flight look in Dean’s eyes? And on and on.  
  
But Dean just kept staring at him with a blank expression, and Cas suddenly had one of the random ideas that struck him sometimes: wouldn’t it be strange if his thoughts were just as clear and audible as his spoken words, and Dean could hear both of them at once? It would be as if Castiel were practically assaulting him with questions, both spoken and thought. Realizing that Dean still hadn’t reacted, Cas forcibly disengaged his mind from its latest ‘What if...?’ scenario, and picked up the thread of the conversation again.  
  
“I see you’ve forgotten it. No worries, keeping track of multiple pieces of information in the brain can be difficult at times,” he said soothingly, noticing that Dean was beginning to resemble a deer in the headlights. “I asked how long you’d been here, and hypothesized that you are similarly new to the neighborhood. You don’t actually need to answer; I was merely making conversation, having already realized that you and your family haven’t even finished moving in yet. I would guess you arrived here about a week ago. Am I correct?”  
  
Luckily, this time Dean answered right away. “More like two weeks.” His voice was gruff now, and it sent a small tingle of pleasure down Castiel’s spine. What a voice. What a face. What a... everything. He could not let this one escape.  
  
Trying to conceal his reaction, Cas narrowed his eyes at the other boy and said the first thing that came to mind. “Right, of course. Slow unpackers. You would be, wouldn’t you.” The moment these words had left his lips they sounded idiotic to him, and Cas felt like he was waking from a trance. A sudden wave of embarrassment surged over him, and he responded to it the only way he knew how, by retreating into formality and distant politeness. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean. I guess I’ll see you around.”  
  
Dragging his gaze away from the other boy’s face––freckles! Dean had freckles! Cas had only just noticed!––he made himself turn and walk back towards the house without once looking around.  
  
***


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days were a blur of unpacking. Even though the whole family worked diligently several hours a day, after three days there were still boxes and unsorted objects filling the two front rooms. The problem was that in a large family of opinionated people, it’s hard to agree on anything, even when the matter of the moment is something as trivial as where to place a certain piece of furniture or hang a picture. Arguments blew up out of nowhere about the smallest things, and Father would quickly absent himself (he grew sad when people stopped trying to understand each other and see the other’s point of view, which unfortunately happened quite regularly in this household), which left the kids alone to duke it out in their various ways.

They all had different approaches when it came to holding their own in a fight. Cas would of course soon resort to linguistic intricacies, trying to baffle with his grandiloquence; Anna used her intensity and practical knowledge to fend off counterattacks; Mike played on his position as the eldest and most responsible one; and Gabe wielded a terrifying combination of fast-talk, scorn, and witty jibes. Luc had more unsavory techniques which might best be described as subtle psychological torment. No one was sure how he did it, but you didn’t want to get on his bad side. Luckily he was uninterested in most conflict and tended to be almost scarily patient when it came to waiting for what he wanted, so he often wasn’t involved in these little tiffs.

On Thursday afternoon, tempers were fraying from exhaustion and hard work, and a particularly nasty altercation sprung up. This one, as it happened, did involve Luc, so Cas decided to take cover in the room he’d claimed for his own. It was small and dark and musty and smelled vaguely of mothballs, but he liked it. It was halfway down a corridor where no one else had their bedrooms, so he would have his precious solitude, and just beyond it was a lovely sort of upstairs salon with space for his piano (they’d got the movers to put it up there on the first day), as well as a small balcony that looked out over the back yard. He couldn’t even hear the raised voices from upstairs, but as evening drew on he saw Gabe storming out of the house, getting into the car and speeding off with rather more revving of the engine than was necessary.

Cas sighed, and turned his attention to the two boxes of his stuff that were still sitting by the door. The first thing he withdrew was his carefully folded replica of the original “Lady and the Unicorn” tapestry. Unfolded, it covered almost the entire wall across from his bed. Cas found some nails and a hammer, and soon the tapestry was hanging gracefully as if it had always been there. Cas smiled. It made him feel peaceful to look at it. Five panels represented the five senses––sight, hearing, smell, touch, and taste––and the sixth was titled ‘À Mon Seul Désir”, an inscription that was famed for the multiplicity of its possible meanings in this context. Cas liked the interpretation which suggested that desire was supposed to be the sixth sense.

Exactly the other side of this wall, Cas reflected, was his piano, no more than six inches or so of solid wall away from the tapestry. An image floated into his head of him sitting at his piano and playing it inside the tapestry, just another character in the scene with the lady and the unicorn. He suddenly found himself wishing fervently that he was a good enough pianist to write his own music––the thought had struck him to compose a piece inspired by the tapestry. Surely no one had done that before.

A gentle knock on his bedroom door startled him out of his reverie, and he blinked at his surroundings, almost disappointed to find himself in a place with no flowers or fruit trees or mythical animals. He turned and gazed at the door, and it opened a crack. Anna peeped around the door frame. “Hey. Sorry about all that, earlier. You could probably hear us, yeah?”

Cas shook his head, slowly, truthfully. He wondered vaguely what the fight had been about this time. Part of his mind was still in a distant medieval forest. Anna stuck her arm into the room, and Cas saw what she was holding. “I found your bow and arrows in one of the boxes downstairs. Thought you’d probably want them.”

Back in the moment at last, Cas smiled at his sister and crossed to take them from her. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to practicing in the back yard. I think I’ll do that tomorrow.”

She smiled back, but there was a bit of worry in her face. “Listen, Cas. You know, there’s not a lot going on around here. I haven’t seen any of the neighbors yet, and to be frank, I get the impression they don’t really want to be seen. In two weeks Gabe and I will be heading back to college, and then there will only be Mike and Luc here. Are you sure you’ll have enough to do? I don’t want you getting bored out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Cas’s expression softened. In the past, he would have gotten annoyed with people constantly thinking he needed outside stimulation in order to survive, when in fact he was kept quite busy enough by the vagaries and quirks of his own mind, not to mention the wide variety of hobbies he had. But now he had finally come to accept that when his family said things like this, it was just their way of showing that they cared about him and wanted him to be happy.

“I’ll be fine on my own, Anna, you know that,” he gently chided her. “And you may not have met any of the neighbors yet, but I have. The boy next door is called Dean. He has a younger brother, too.”

“All right.” Anna gave him a one-sided smile. “I’ll take your word for it. But you’ve got to admit this neighborhood is a pretty closed-up place.”

Cas couldn’t deny it. And there was something else he couldn’t deny, either. Although he didn’t have the compulsion to surround himself with ‘pack members’ the way the rest of the world seemed to, his mind kept returning to the handsome yet reserved face of his neighbor Dean. Cas did rather want to see Dean again.

The next afternoon, as he had said to Anna, Cas decided to go out and do some archery practice. He had two sets of arrows: one set with pointy tips, to be shot at a target, and one set with blunt tips, that could be shot at anything or nothing at all. His target was still at the bottom of some box full of stuff somewhere in the house, but Cas didn’t care. Right now he wanted to work on his distance shooting, not his aim.

Heading downstairs with his quiver and bow, Cas encountered Anna storming in through the front door. “I’m surrounded by MORONS!” she snapped in lieu of a greeting.

Cas frowned and tipped his head to one side. “Who are these morons you speak of?”

“Gabe, for one. Can you believe it? He left the overhead light on in my car all night! The battery’s completely dead, and when I asked the idiot who lives next door for a jumper cable, he was all like ‘Uhhh, don’t you have one?’”

Even though Anna was mad, her imitation was still good enough that Cas instantly realized it was Dean she was speaking about.

Throwing her purse down on the table, Anna continued. “I was like, ‘No, fool, if I had one I wouldn’t have wasted my time talking to you!’ I could have just jumped my engine from the truck, as long as it’s still here. Which reminds me, our rental was only for a week––we need to return it before four p.m. tomorrow. But anyway, yeah, so Gabe’s a moron and the guy next door’s a moron, in addition to being one of those jerks who apparently thinks everyone has a penis. ‘Dude’, ‘man’, ‘you guys’––I am sick to death of this female-exclusive fuckery! You just know that if I went up to a mixed-gender group and addressed them as ‘ladies’ the shit would hit the fan. But noooo, ‘you guys’ is always appropriate! It’s always appropriate to completely deny the existence of half the planet’s population, as well as nullifying every contribution we’ve ever made to society, with one’s everyday language!”

“Yes, it’s terribly unfortunate, Anna,” Cas agreed, knowing there was no stopping her when she got like this. “But don’t you think people such as him are likely coming from a place of ignorance rather than one of deliberate malice?” Thinking back to those gentle, complex green eyes, Cas couldn’t imagine Dean being the misogynistic jerk Anna was making him out to be.

She sighed, and pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. It’s just really annoying, you know?”

“I understand,” Cas assured her. “Where were you planning to go? Can’t you take Luc’s truck or Mike’s car?”

“Nope. They’re both out too.” Anna looked up with a sudden spark of determination in her eyes. “Screw it. I’ll take the moving truck. Dadgummit, I am NOT going to let this universe of stupidity stop me from getting to my dentist appointment on time. And hey, the rental lasts for another twenty-four hours, might as well make the most of it!”

With this declaration, she spontaneously hugged Cas, grabbed up her purse, and headed back out the front door.

Satisfied that his sister’s crisis had been averted, Cas directed his steps towards the back door with a small smile.

A few minutes later, he was getting back into the particular rhythm of archery. It had been several weeks since he’d last practiced, but it was like riding a bike––not something you forgot. Since none of the next-door neighbors appeared to be home, Cas decided to aim into their backyard. If he stood all the way at the far side of his own yard and aimed for the far side of their yard, that would give him a nice long stretch for his distance-shooting practice, across the entire width of the two lawns. He paused a moment, reviewing basic geometry in his mind. No, actually, standing in the corner of his own lawn next to his house and aiming toward the diagonally opposite corner of the neighbors’ lawn would give him an even longer stretch. Perfect.

He positioned himself, withdrew one of his blunt-tipped arrows, pulled the notch back against the bowstring until the arrowhead almost reached the bow itself, and let it fly. The crow feathers he’d attached to the arrow (yes, he’d made the arrows himself, in his crafty phase) made a satisfying whistling noise as it zipped through the air, passing over the separating fence before landing somewhere around the middle of the neighbors’ lawn. Cas frowned. Surely he could do better than that. The next arrow did indeed go further, and the third one vanished into the shade of the small pine grove at the back of the lawn. Cas approached the fence to eyeball his landing spots.

He could see two of his arrows, but not the third. As he leaned a bit further over the fence, wondering if maybe one had hit something and ricocheted, he got a shock: “Hey, freak!” called a disgruntled voice from the back of the neighbors’ yard. “What are you doing shooting arrows all over the place?” Dean stepped out of the shadows, Cas’s third arrow in one hand and a book in the other. “You hit me right in the chest! That thing might not be real, but it still friggin’ hurts. What the hell are you playing at?”

“Oh, hello, Dean,” Cas responded as his heartbeat began slowing to normal again. “I had no idea you were there. I’m sorry.” Since Dean seemed to have forgotten he was still holding the arrow, Cas held out his hand for it. As Dean approached, Cas peered at the other boy’s chest. He didn’t usually do target practice with these arrows, but he couldn’t help wondering how much damage they would cause if shot well. A brief image flashed into his mind: asking Dean to remove his shirt so he could ‘examine the injury’... but of course he’d probably be too distracted to pay much attention to it... Dean’s tight t-shirt left no doubt that he was quite fit. After receiving the arrow, Cas took advantage of their closeness to reach out and daringly press a hand to Dean’s chest. Yep, nothing but muscle. Wow. “Here? Or lower?” Cas queried weakly. “It’ll probably bruise. Well, that is, if my technique isn’t abominable.”

His hand was left grasping at nothing as the other boy took a decided step back. “Your technique IS abominable. You should learn to aim before you assault another innocent civilian.”

The fluttery feelings that Dean’s proximity was causing in Castiel were quickly extinguished by his indignation at the implication that he was nothing but a rank amateur. “I can too aim,” Cas protested. “I was purposefully aiming into your yard because I didn’t think anyone was there.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean answered. “And then what were you gonna do? Climb the fence and waltz on in to get your arrows back? Does the concept of private property mean nothing to you?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Of course it does, I’ve read Rousseau. But I don’t suppose this particular private property means much to _you,_ seeing as you only moved in two weeks ago.” Despite the unavoidable fact that they were currently arguing, Cas felt another part of himself thrumming with happiness at the realization that he was having an actual conversation with Dean. Restraining the urge to grin like an idiot, he continued recklessly: “Or have you already got bodies buried in the rose garden that you don’t want me to find? No, let’s see: maybe you’ve been planting mines, in order to liven up your pallid existence. Better yet: you’re worried that I’ll discover traces of your sordid nightly pagan rituals––believe me, I know all about those. You’re among friends here.”

“What? No!” Dean replied, looking confused but also the tiniest bit intrigued––if Cas wasn’t just imagining that. “God, you are strange. Listen, I don’t kill people, or, or plant mines, and I’m not a pagan. I’m just trying to relax in my hammock without getting shot, okay?”

“You have a hammock?” Argument forgotten, Cas stared at Dean. “I want a hammock. Can I use yours when you’re not in it?”

“No! Jesus.” Dean looked displeased, but Cas was distracted, overwhelmed by everything: a hammock! And, well, Dean! And Dean’s apparent habit of saying ‘God’ and ‘Jesus’ quite often... that was odd. But Cas didn’t really care. Before he could remember to plead his case for the hammock, though, Dean was speaking again. “How old are you anyways? I thought you’d be in my class, but I didn’t see you at school this week.”

A rush of warmth flooded through Cas. He wasn’t sure if the other boy had thought twice about his existence after their brief meeting a few days ago, but evidently he had.

“Oh, no, I’m homeschooled,” Cas explained. “I prefer to learn at my own pace. Most schools can’t keep up. My siblings are all older than me. Anna’s a freshman in college, Gabe’s a sophomore. They’re home on spring break right now to help us move. Luc and Mike have already graduated. They run an online business from home. I actually don’t know what kind of business it is,” he admitted. “They’re very secretive about it. Possibly it’s something illegal. I don’t really care. But yes, I’m not at school, so you won’t see me there, although I’m flattered you looked for me.”

“I did not look for you,” Dean immediately responded. _The lad doth protest too much, methinks..._ Cas mused to himself, successfully restraining a smile while continuing to gaze at Dean’s face. “It’s a small school, that’s all,” Dean added. “And I don’t know anybody else here yet.”

That reminded Cas of what Anna had said earlier about the unfriendliness of the neighborhood. “By the way, my sister says you’re a moron. She says you somehow managed to misjudge her gender, knowledge of cars, and general intelligence, all in the space of a few seconds. Now, the latter two I can understand––everybody makes mistakes––but the first is frankly baffling.” Cas paused momentarily before dropping in the important bit, in a casual tone. “I don’t find girls particularly aesthetically pleasing myself, but I do know how to distinguish them from boys. Do you have trouble in this area? Let me quiz you. Am I a boy or a girl, Dean?”

“For Christ’s sake!” Dean blurted. “She––you––you guys are the weirdest bunch of people I have ever met, bar none. And that’s all I said to her, ‘you guys’. I didn’t mean that SHE was a guy, I just meant, well, all of y’all. You know what? Forget this. I am done, I can’t handle this conversation anymore.” Without another word, he turned and headed back into the house.

Cas sighed. Well, Dean hadn’t reacted to the bit about him not liking girls. Cas wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He stared at the arrow in his hand for a second, trying to arrange all the new stimuli of the past few minutes and sort it all into the correct spots in his mind. First, Dean thought he was weird... that was nothing new. Cas was accustomed to getting that reaction from people. Second, Dean had looked for him at school... yes, he definitely had, even if he’d denied it. That made a little warmness hum inside Cas. Third, Dean had a hammock... oh yes. A hammock. Cas placed his bow and quiver carefully on the ground, took a single step back, and vaulted over the fence. Now in the neighbors’ yard, he gathered up his two remaining arrows and headed back towards the shadows Dean had emerged from. This hammock was worth a look.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next couple of days, Cas slowly became aware that his siblings were giving him amused-yet-impatient looks more and more often. Sunday night they were eating dinner and it happened again. “What school district do we live in?” Cas asked out of the blue. “I’m just wondering if there’s only one school that everyone in this area attends. Dean said he was surprised not to see me at school.”  
  
He stuffed a bite of salad in his mouth and, chewing, glanced around the table for an answer, but he didn’t get one. Instead, he saw Anna pursing her lips in an obvious attempt to conceal a smile while Gabe did nothing to hide his own sharkish grin, Mike let out a tiny sigh and shook his head to himself, and Luc’s eyebrows slid up his forehead in disbelief before he spoke. “Yeah, Gabe, I know. You’ll get your money tomorrow.”  
  
Cas frowned in confusion, and Gabe began cracking up. “I don’t believe it!” he gasped through his merriment. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry!” No one made the obvious remark that he seemed to have already decided which course of action to take.  
  
In gravelly tones (his voice always got low when he was feeling flustered), Cas asked “What exactly is going on here?”  
  
Since Gabe was still choking with laughter, Luc rolled his eyes and put down his fork. “Gabe and I just had a little game going, that’s all. We were wondering how many times you would mention this Dean kid before the end of the weekend. I chose a ballpark figure of ten, Gabe went with twenty. That––” he raised his eyebrows in Cas’s direction to indicate what he meant–– “was the sixteenth time you’ve said his name since Friday. Which means that I’m down twenty bucks,” he concluded ruefully.  
  
Cas could feel his face flushing as he sent a glare around the table at his siblings. “You––you were betting on me?”  
  
“I wasn’t!” Anna protested. “I think it’s cute!”  
  
“And I missed out on the pool,” Mike said thoughtfully. “Lucky for me. I would definitely have lost. I had no idea you were so smitten.”  
  
Cas puffed himself up with outrage, before realizing he had no good argument. Come to think of it, now that he reviewed the past few days in his mind, he had indeed been talking about Dean quite a lot. Cas let out a heavy sigh and poked miserably at his salad. “Well, you all may be right,” he grumbled, “But I still think it’s inappropriate to bet on me. It makes me feel like an idiot.”  
  
“Aw, I’m sorry, li’l bro,” said Gabe in a sudden fit of niceness. “Tell you what, come on, when Luci coughs up we can split the winnings. What do you say, huh?”  
  
Cas eyed him disconsolately before shrugging and nodding. “Okay, I accept.”  
  
“So?” Anna asked eagerly. “Are you gonna go for it?”  
  
“What, for him?” Cas asked, and, oh dear, felt himself blushing again. “No, I... I don’t know. He doesn’t really... strike me as the type... that would be interested.”  
  
“Pfft, don’t let that stop you!” Gabe exclaimed. “Winners never quit, and quitters never win.”  
  
These words bounced around Castiel’s brain with an irritating buoyancy for hours, and he lay in bed that night trying to ignore them and failing. He’d barely met Dean––he couldn’t just ‘go for it’ as Anna had so crudely put it. He had to become properly acquainted with the boy first. He still felt an overwhelming compulsion to know everything there was to know about his green-eyed neighbor.  
  
The next day, Cas was standing in the living room with his nose in a book (he had been unpacking and shelving but had gotten distracted) when he heard voices from the front door. It sounded like Gabe was talking at someone. Cas wondered vaguely if it was a Jehovah’s Witness. If so, he felt sorry for them. He wandered towards the front of the house and peered around his brother’s shoulder. “Gabe, what are––oh, Dean, why are you here?”  
  
He truly hadn’t been expecting to see the other boy, and was caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He couldn’t help noticing that Dean was wearing an oversized flannel shirt. It looked very good on him. “Came to borrow a screwdriver,” Dean explained.  
  
“Yeah, Cassie.” Gabe smirked at his brother. “You know anything about screwing?” Cas glared back at him, trying not to blush. His siblings knew he was still a virgin, but they usually didn’t tease him about it, and definitely not in front of guys that they knew he had a crush on. Although, Cas suddenly realized, all that Gabe knew was that Castiel’s object of interest was named Dean––there was no reason for him to have connected the name with the guy standing here, until Cas had said it. He silently cursed himself for his mistake, but luckily Gabe’s attention was already elsewhere as he called up the stairs to Anna.  
  
Unable to stop himself, Cas returned his gaze to Dean’s face. The other boy seemed slightly uncomfortable standing on their porch, head ducked nervously and hands jammed in his pockets. Cas wished he could invite him in for tea. Suddenly Anna was pushing Cas to one side and sizing up Dean. “Oh, it’s you,” she said with a marked lack of enthusiasm. Cas hoped she wouldn’t start yelling at him and calling him a chauvinist pig, but she had clearly gotten over her outburst of the other day, merely asking “What kind of screwdriver do you need?”  
  
“Uh, a real small Phillips-head. Got one of those?”  
  
“Sure we do,” Anna replied. “Go look in the parlor, left of the big chair.” Suddenly shy, Cas thought of fading away back into the house, but before he could do so, both his siblings had performed a vanishing act of their own, leaving him alone at the front door with Dean’s attention now entirely on him. It was almost too much to take.  
  
Not knowing what else to do, Cas made himself walk towards the parlor, and after a moment Dean followed him. “You guys keep your tools in the... parlor?” he asked skeptically.  
  
“Not as a rule,” Cas answered, eyeing the piles of boxes. “But we haven’t unpacked them yet.” He hoped he could remember which box contained what stuff. A quick memory image of the main moving day flashed on his mind’s eye, and he suddenly knew where the tools were. “Here we go.” He carefully displaced two boxes to reveal a third that had been underneath them. “I think this is the right box.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Dean sounded vaguely amused. “Why doesn’t it say ‘tools’ on it?”  
  
Cas glanced at the box. He recalled naming one of their moving boxes ‘Brunhilda’, but this wasn’t her. It was an older one called ‘wasp nests, feathers, eggshells, etc.’. Also a good name. “We don’t rename boxes,” Cas said vaguely. “We just keep using them.” He opened the box to reveal a mess of tools, apparently completely unorganized. “Phillips-head has a cross on the tip, eh?” There was a smallish one, just like Dean had asked for. “Here we go.”  
  
He handed it to Dean, remembering his manners at the last minute. “Please accept this, with my compliments.” Dean smiled at this, and Cas felt like his stomach had just flipped over. He had no idea that the other boy’s smile would be so gorgeous. It was like the sun rising. Cas couldn’t stop his next words from tumbling out of his mouth. “Would you like to come over for tea sometime? I’d offer you coffee, but I despise it,” he confessed. “I can’t even stand the smell. So I’m offering you tea instead. What do you say?”  
  
“Um, thanks, but I don’t really drink tea.”  
  
Dean’s smile had vanished, but Cas pressed on, unwilling to give up so easily. “What if I bake you petits fours to accompany it? I’ve never actually tried to bake anything before, but if it fails miserably at least I will have amused you with my pathetic attempt. On second thought, can you bake? Maybe you should bake me petits fours instead.”  
  
“Pity-whats?” Dean asked. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. And no, I don’t bake,” he added. “My mom does all that stuff.”  
  
Cas couldn’t stop the momentum from carrying him onward. “That’s nice. Do you think she would consent to bake us some petits fours? I’ve never had them, but I hear they’re delicious. I would provide the tea, of course.” Seeing Dean’s doubtful expression, Cas quickly rewound and tried a different tack. “I’m sorry, is this all too pompous-sounding for you? We could kick back and watch the game instead, if you would prefer,” he offered. “I can do hoi polloi just as well as hoity-toity. I don’t know what sort of games there are to watch right now––all I ever watch is hockey––and we don’t actually have a television, but I assume you do. I would supply drinks, of course.” He remembered something Mike had said the other day. “I believe there’s a local place that makes its own ginger beer. I’ve been wanting to taste that ever since I heard about it.”  
  
As soon as Cas stopped talking, though, Dean cut in without replying to the invitation. “Listen, thank you for the loan of the screwdriver, but I’ve really got to get back and give it to my dad. He’ll be waiting already. Thanks a lot, seriously.” And before Cas could speak again, his guest had fled.  
  
Cas let out a deep sigh, watching Dean go. A chuckle from behind him made him turn. “No luck this time, huh, buddy?” Gabe teased, but with warmth in his eyes. “Well, don’t give up. I didn’t realize THAT was the famous Dean! You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you. Good taste, bro––” he raised his eyebrows respectfully–– “but he’s gonna be a handful, I can tell.”  
  
“Apparently, yes,” Cas said, and collapsed on the sofa. “He didn’t seem very enthusiastic about my invitation to tea.”  
  
“Who cares?” Gabe shot back. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll give you a chance. And if he doesn’t know what’s good for him, you’d better show him! Come on, take some initiative, don’t just wave around little flags saying ‘please come to tea’ on them. You need to show some spunk.”  
  
“All right.” Cas nodded shyly. “I’ll have to think up a plan of attack.”  
  
“You do that.” Gabe clapped him on the back as he passed. “That kid won’t know what hit him.”  
  
Cas retreated to his room to think. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at attack planning. He’d never been in a relationship before, and he’d definitely never fallen so hard for someone after just a few brief interactions. He didn’t know enough about Dean to deduce the best way to his heart. When in doubt, food was usually good, but Cas’s cooking skills were patchy, and Dean hadn’t seemed to know what petits fours were. The afternoon wound slowly by, and Cas constantly found his thoughts returning to the problem of how to win over the unreachable Dean. His mind circling into ever tighter and more pitiful spirals, Cas eventually gave up entirely and flounced out of his room in frustration. He couldn’t think any more. He decided to go see if Dean was in the hammock.  
  
By some stroke of luck, he was. The long low rays of the setting sun gilded his features, making him look like a Roman statue, or one of those reclining knights that graced medieval tombs. Each one of his eyelashes was individually illuminated. It took Cas’s breath away. He’d jumped over the fence into the other yard again and now stood gazing upon Dean, who was resting with closed eyes, seemingly unaware of Castiel’s presence. Cas found himself wondering with awe how such a beautiful being could even exist. He took one soundless step closer. Dean looked happy in the hammock, relaxed, his legs crossed and his face tipped to one side, basking in the last bit of sunlight. Cas felt an overwhelming urge to be close to him, touch him, something, anything. The feeling rushed through him, making him giddy, and before he knew what he was doing, he had clambered into the hammock as well. “Hello, Dean,” he breathed. “Let’s see if we can both fit in the hammock.”  
  
Dean stiffened and jerked in surprise, trying to sit up. “What the hell, Cas?!” Cas felt a pair of strong hands pushing hard at his chest. “Get off! Get out! You’re too heavy!” The sunwarmed scent of Dean was in Castiel’s nostrils and Dean’s hands were still all over him, and suddenly the sensations were simply too much, and Cas clung tight in desperation to Dean’s shirt as the hammock tipped them both out on the ground.  
  
As it happened, Cas landed sprawled directly on top of Dean, and he stared in shock down at those stunning green eyes, far closer than they’d ever been before, as their owner let out a low growl of irritation. The awareness of their intimate position suddenly rushed throughout Cas’s body like a physical epiphany and pooled in his loins with a disarming heat. Oh dear. Oh no. Dean couldn’t be allowed to notice––but before Cas’s frantic thoughts had sorted themselves out and before his body had really begun to betray him, Dean had struggled out from underneath him and was standing up, dusting himself off.  
  
Cas gasped weakly for breath, still lying on his front to conceal his unexpected arousal. He was covered with dirt and bits of leaves, and he slowly became aware that the hammock had come down along with them and was currently tangled around his legs. Too bad. That could be dealt with later––right now he was in a rather delicate position, with no idea what to do. In frustration, he dug his fingers into the mossy earth and took a long slow breath, willing his heartbeat to return to normal. He couldn’t even look up, knowing his eyes would still reveal too much, something Dean couldn’t fail to notice. This really was a bodily reaction Cas hadn’t had to deal with before, and damage control needed a minute or two.  
  
Dean’s voice jerked him out of his distraction, though. “Dude, what were you thinking?!”  
  
Doing his utmost to conceal the state he was in, Cas answered more haughtily than usual. “As I said, I wished to perform an experiment to determine the maximum weight capacity of your hammock. If you hadn’t struggled so much, the experiment might have been a success.”  
  
Dean let out a huff that sounded somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “You are unbelievable. I wish to God you would leave me alone.”  
  
The words were harsh, but the tone left some wiggle room for interpretation, and Cas seized on it at once. “I don’t think you really wish that.” He had to keep talking, keep Dean distracted while Cas got a hold of himself, so he said the next thing that popped into his mind. “You talk about God an awful lot, have you noticed? Are you religious? You strike me as the type that might have been raised Catholic but mostly gotten over it by now. Although it’s also possible––”  
  
“No, no, no,” Dean interrupted, kneeling roughly down next to Cas. In a nervous reaction, Cas half-sat up. It was lucky he’d finally regained control of himself, because Dean’s next move was completely unexpected: he grabbed hold of Cas’s shoulders, putting his face barely six inches away. “Stop! Just stop! Just, please, shut your mouth for a second and don’t say anything.”  
  
Some part of Cas’s brain seemed to vaguely recall a distant time when he’d been capable of speech, but that time certainly wasn’t now, so it was remarkably easy to comply with Dean’s request. Instead, he just gazed dumbly into the other boy’s eyes. The number of sensations he was trying to deal with right now was enough already without having to produce words as well. Dean’s eyes sparkled in the dim light, and he bit his lip briefly before speaking again. “You know, you’re always either talking a mile a minute or staring at me. Do you ever do anything else? Do you ever just close your eyes and be quiet?”  
  
Even less sensation input. A brilliant idea, if he wanted to survive this encounter with any functioning brain cells left at all. Cas pounced on the suggestion gratefully. “Yes, I can do that.” With both reluctance and relief he let himself fall back on the ground, out of Dean’s grasp, and closed his eyes tightly, taking another long shallow breath and letting it out just as slowly. The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity, and Cas was painfully aware of Dean’s presence, right there but untouchable and invisible in the silence. All his nerves seemed to be standing on end with anticipation, and it was hard not to start in surprise when he suddenly felt a light warm hand on his chest for a fraction of a moment.  
  
Cas slowly opened his eyes, seeing dark pine branches above him and hearing Dean’s tiny shifting sounds to his right. He felt weirdly like he was awakening from an enchanted thousand-year sleep that only the touch of his prince could break... his prince? Who was he fooling? Still, the idea was an amusing one, and as he carefully sat up he couldn’t help saying softly “This feels like a very Grimm Brothers moment.” In a few seconds he’d untangled the hammock ropes and was free. “I think I’ll go home now. Good night, Dean.”


	4. Chapter 4

For the rest of the evening and well into the next week, Cas was too overwhelmed by the memory of his brief encounter with Dean to think of much else, merely running the film reel of that evening’s events over and over in his head. He wondered if Dean had been as annoyed as he’d sounded. He’d said ‘I wish to God you would leave me alone’. Cas frowned, recalling the exact words. It seemed a bit rude. But then, Cas realized, he had broken the other boy’s hammock, after all. He felt a rush of irritation at himself. _Great job, you want to win his heart and instead you break his hammock. Very smooth,_ Cas chastised himself. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Dean was probably pretty mad at him right now. And he had every right to be. Cas sighed deeply.

“Okay, that’s it.” Luc clapped his book shut. “You’re getting on my nerves, little brother. We need to get you out of the house.” Since the book-shelving project was going so slowly, Cas had engaged his older brother’s help to speed it along. What ended up happening, of course, was that both of them got distracted by books and ended up sitting side by side on the floor reading.

Cas blinked at Luc in confusion. “What? How am I... getting on your nerves?”

Luc stood up and stretched before poking Cas with the toe of his boot. “All the lovesick sighs. It’s silly. I’m embarrassed for you. C’mon, get up. Let’s hit the road, I got an idea.”

He turned and left the room, and Cas got up and followed, half annoyed and half curious. “What’s your idea?” he asked, obediently tying his shoes while Luc pulled on his old leather jacket.

“It’s a surprise,” his older brother teased, tossing the keys to his pickup in the air and catching them again in one hand. “Hurry up or I’ll leave without you.”

Cas knew he wouldn’t really leave without him. Or, at least, he was about 90% confident he wouldn’t. You never knew for sure with Luc.

After about fifteen minutes of driving, Luc slowed his old baby-blue pickup and pulled up in front of a long rusty metal gate. He leaned out the window, peering around to make sure no one else was there, and then poked Cas in the side. “Hop out and open the gate, then close it after us. Go on, it’s not locked, it’s just heavy.”

Cas did as requested, let the truck through, and heaved the gate back into place. Then he turned around and his eyes widened at the sight. They were in a huge dirt parking-lot area filled with the most random collection of stuff he’d ever seen. There were heaps and heaps of scrap metal, but plenty of stuff that was still in one piece as well: a refrigerator and a stove leaning haphazardly against each other, a few sets of shelves lined with cans and bottles, and piles of lumber abutting a mountain of old bicycles, car doors, and unidentifiable electronics. On the far side of the whole yard were about six rusted-out vehicles of various types: a couple of vintage cars in terrible shape, a small horse trailer, and a tractor, and closer to them there was another pickup in much better shape, with its bed full of various mechanical odds and ends.

Luc hopped out of his truck and smirked at Cas, throwing his arms wide. “Welcome to the dump!” he crowed. “It’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys in sulfuric acid!”

His brother had a habit of saying rather disturbing things, but Cas tried not to let it get to him. He merely stared around, his eyes wide as he tried to take in everything at once. Slowly he became aware of a scraping sound from behind the huge pile of wood and metal, and before he could draw Luc’s attention to it, a man stepped out from behind it and approached them with a wary expression.

“Oh shit,” Luc commented philosophically. “Looks like we’re busted. You gonna kick us out of here, mister?”

The man answered with a question of his own. “You boys ain’t from the town, are ya?”

“From the town?” Cas frowned and tipped his head slightly.

The stranger gave a grim one-sided smile and said “Okay, I got it. We’re all here for the same reason, right? Might not be strictly legal, but we’re in good company.” He was close enough now to shake hands with them, but he didn’t, merely examining each one closely. “Say, you’re our new neighbors, aren’t you? I’m John Winchester.”

Cas realized with a start that this must be Dean’s father. Time to make a good impression. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” he said. “I’m Cas, and this is my brother Luc.”

Luc fractionally raised one eyebrow, which was friendly behavior by his standards. John gave a brusque nod in return. “Well, I’ll let you boys get on with it, then. There’s a brand new mini-fridge in the shed if you want it. Everything in the back of the truck’s already claimed.” He gestured to the other pickup, and Cas realized it must be his––that was why it was in so much better shape than the other cars here.

When John Winchester had vanished behind the scrap metal again, Luc immediately headed over to the other man’s truck and began eyeing the items in it. “Luc!” Cas cautioned, trying to keep his voice down. “That’s off-limits. It belongs to him.” Luc lifted a heavy parka out of the truck bed for closer inspection. “Put it back!” Cas hissed.

To his surprise, Luc did, turning back to him with a slowly widening smile. “Ohhhh, I get it. You want me to play nice with your future father-in-law.” With a look of mock innocence he threw both his hands in the air and sauntered away from the truck. “No problemo. I certainly don’t want to mar your eventual marital bliss with a little family tiff.”

Cas blushed furiously and glared at his brother. “I think you’re thinking a bit too far ahead,” he said severely. “Dean doesn’t even like me yet, let alone...” He paused and swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.

Luc’s grin showed that he understood all too well. He punched his little brother in the shoulder with what could almost be considered affection. “Well, I’ve got a fabulous idea, you pining little lovebird, you. Why don’t you have a look around and see if you can find a nice present for Mr. Hot Stuff? Maybe if you ply him with gifts he’ll return the favor, if you know what I mean.”

Utterly flustered, not to mention offended, by his brother’s lewd implications, Cas rushed away between the piles of miscellaneous stuff, and for lack of anything else to do, started looking around for something Dean might like. When he caught sight of a large curved metal contraption, it took him a moment to figure out what it was, but when he did, his eyes went wide. A hammock frame. As much as he hated to follow Luc’s advice, the frame would make a very appropriate peace offering to Dean, who was probably still thinking of Cas as the weird kid who broke his hammock.

When he shyly told his brother his idea, Luc burst out laughing. “You really are serious about this guy, aren’t you? What a scream. Well fine, if you’re gonna do it, you’d better do it right. Take my truck tomorrow, you can bring Dean over here and show him the frame. Meanwhile, let’s tug it over here out of the way so nobody else grabs it and skedaddles.”

***

The next day at five minutes to three, Cas was sitting in Luc’s pickup outside the local high school, more nervous than he had felt in a long time. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became that his behavior towards Dean had been absolutely idiotic. Why on earth had he jumped into the hammock with him like that? Dean had been peaceful, probably enjoying his solitude until Cas had bumbled in, scaring him and breaking his hammock. And yet, Gabe’s encouraging words were still echoing in the back of his mind: _If he doesn’t know what’s good for him, you’d better show him! Take some initiative._ So that was exactly what Cas was doing, even if it scared and depressed him to be in such close proximity to this heartless kid-processing machine known as a ‘school’. The building loomed ominously. Cas felt like a brave knight on his baby-blue Ford steed, facing off against the fat ugly brown-brick dragon of a building that crouched in front of him.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and within a few minutes the building’s doors sprang open and kids began pouring out onto the sidewalk. _Hmm,_ Cas thought with horrified fascination, _This dragon breathes talkative multi-colored fire._ He desperately scanned the faces for a certain pair of green eyes, and finally caught sight of Dean making his way through the crowd. He hadn’t noticed the truck, so on impulse Cas hit the horn, instantly regretting it when Dean jumped like a startled gazelle. But at least he was looking at Cas now, with those amazing eyes. For a minute, Cas thought the other boy might look away again and keep walking, but then Dean slowly approached the pickup and peered in through the open window.

“Howdy pardner,” he said, teasing with a strong Southern accent. “What’s with the truck? I think you forgot your straw hat and overalls.”

A flood of relief rushed through Castiel when he realized that Dean wasn’t mad at him, or at least not as mad as he had every right to be. Cas was still unnerved by the throngs of loud students flowing all around them, though, and he wanted to get out of there fast. “It’s not mine, it belongs to Luc,” he said quickly. “I don’t have my own car. I borrowed it because I needed it. Please get in, Dean,” he almost begged. “The soul-crushing atmosphere of this place is making me very uncomfortable. I would like to leave.”

To Cas’s displeasure, Dean stepped away from the truck. “Go ahead, then. I’m not stopping you.”

Clearly this boy was just not getting it. “No! I want to leave _with you,_ ” Cas explained in irritation. “Get in the car, Dean. I need to show you something.”

Dean hesitated briefly, glanced to his left, and seemed to make up his mind. He tugged at the passenger side door’s handle. “You gotta unlock the door if you want me to get in.”

“It is unlocked,” said Cas in confusion. After all, he’d just used that exact door yesterday. But there was a pattern of things that usually happened around Luc, and this fit the pattern. “I suppose it must be broken. That’s not really a surprise. Things tend to fall apart around my brother.” He slid across to open the door for Dean and then returned to the driver’s seat, watching out of the corner of his eye as the other boy climbed in.

When he was settled, Dean asked “So, you said you had something to show me?”

“Yes. At the dump.” Cas took a deep breath. He hated driving, although he was good enough at it. He just couldn’t help thinking of everything that could go wrong. Automobiles were such monstrous big creatures. He started the engine and craned his neck in every possible direction to ensure that the coast was clear before pulling out of his parking spot.

Still, Cas spun the wheel too far and nearly went off the side of the road when Dean scoffed and said “The dump? Real romantic date, dude.”

For a split second Cas panicked, wondering if Dean really thought this was an attempt at romance on his part. “It’s not a date! I wouldn’t take you on a date to the dump!”

“Relax, I was just kidding,” Dean grumbled. “Where is the dump anyway?”

“About five minutes from here.” Cas let himself keep talking, saying whatever came into his head, as they continued down the road. He knew he was blathering, but you couldn’t really blame him: it was already stressful enough driving at all, let alone driving Luc’s huge pickup with the guy he had a crush on sitting right next to him.

Luckily, Dean let him ramble, not interrupting until they were turning into the entrance to the town dump. The gate was open today. “So, come here often?” Dean asked.

Pulling into a suitably out-of-the-way parking spot, Cas finally relaxed a bit, and gave Dean a small frown. “Certainly not. But I happened to be here the other day and encountered your father. He had taken most of the good stuff by the time I arrived.”

“How do you know who my father is?” Dean asked almost accusingly.

Cas carefully turned off the engine and pocketed the keys. “I’m very observant, Dean. You’re evidently not. But don’t worry; it’s a skill that can be learned.” He reflected for a brief moment, then added: “For some. Now, come on, I have something for you.”

When they got out of the truck, Dean recognized the hammock frame immediately, and Cas was delighted to see a smile spreading over the other boy’s face. Dean examined it closely, and Cas couldn’t help noticing the skilful touch of his hands as they tested the metal’s strength. When Dean finally glanced up again, Cas burst out “Do you like it?” Realizing how childish he sounded, he quickly continued. “If you do, I thought we could put it in the back of the truck and take it home right now. Before anyone else takes it. I mean, I don’t know that anyone else will take it. But just in case hammock frames become a hot commodity tomorrow. Nobody cares if you take stuff from here, as long as they don’t actually catch you in the act. I’m sure we won’t get in trouble.”

“Nah, my dad does this all the time,” Dean responded. Luckily, no one came along before they had successfully loaded the frame into the truck bed and had left the dump in the rearview mirror. Although he was still tensely focused on the road as always, Cas took note that Dean was far more relaxed on the way home, even pretending to play along to a guitar solo on the radio. Cas noted the type of music for future reference. Apparently Dean liked the oldies station.

Back home again, they unloaded the hammock frame together and set it up in the backyard of Dean’s house. Even this comparatively small project showed Cas a new side of his neighbor: when it came to physical and organizational stuff––lifting and moving the frame, telling Cas where to stand and how to hold it, knowing from one glance exactly what type of tools they’d need––Dean was a natural. He had an easy familiarity in his interactions with the world around him that fascinated Cas. He felt like he could happily watch an entire feature film that was just Dean pounding in nails.

Finally their work was done, and Dean gave the hammock in its frame an approving once-over, stepping back next to Cas. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “And now you won’t have to damage the trees anymore by sticking things into them.”

“Oh, I see, your motivation for all this was some silly hippie tree-hugging thing, was it?” Dean asked, eyes sparkling with playfulness.

Cas’s heart jumped at the sight, and he put on his most severe expression to hide it. “It’s not ‘silly’ to take the Earth’s protection seriously. It’s the only matter that affects literally all of us, and unfortunately it’s also the only one that no one feels is their personal responsibility. But it’s the personal responsibility of all of us. I hope you recycle and save water whenever you can, Dean. Do you own a bicycle? You should. It’s better than driving everywhere.”

“I take the bus to school,” Dean shot back. “That is, when my freakish neighbor doesn’t insist on giving me a ride home in his brother’s gas-guzzling pickup truck.”

Cas stumbled over his own words in an attempt to defend himself. “That––this was an isolated incident. I will not have gifts for you every day.”

“Aw, you won’t?” The look Dean was giving him right now ought to be illegal, all puppy-dog eyes and teasing pout. “And here I was gettin’ all excited about it, too. I mean, nobody’s ever taken me to the dump and given me an ugly metal hammock frame before. I thought this meant we were pretty much engaged to be married.”

Cas’s mouth fell slightly open. Dean––excited? He called the frame ugly... engaged? married?! It was too much. He felt like his brain was one big blinking ‘ERROR’ message. He stood frozen to the spot until Dean made it even worse by giving him a light punch in the shoulder. “Thanks for the gift, thanks for the lift. I’ll be seein’ ya.” And he was gone, before Castiel had any idea how to react.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel jumped up and slammed the lid of the piano keyboard shut. He was having a bad left-hand day. Some days were just like that. It was particularly unfortunate, because he’d woken up with more motivation than ever to practice, but his left hand felt weak and clumsy today and he didn’t know why.

After a brief stalk around the room, he sat down at the keyboard again, lifted the lid, and dove straight into one of the few pieces he knew by heart, due to its shortness and repetitive theme: Bartók’s “Country Dance”, or as Cas preferred to call it, “Torture for the Left Hand”. His left hand deserved it today. He was going to beat it into submission if it was the last thing he ever did.

This futile rage didn’t come from nowhere. Although he wouldn’t admit it to himself, he was worried about Dean. Things had seemed to be improving between them on the quest to get the hammock frame, but he hadn’t seen Dean since then, and insecurity was setting in. Maybe his neighbor really didn’t want to be friends. Cas could understand that, of course; he knew he wasn’t an easy person to be friends with. He had strange tastes and didn’t recognize most pop-culture references, and he wasn’t very good at having a conversation, and he knew his stare made people uncomfortable.

With these thoughts bouncing around inside his head, he fumbled the unmerciful left-hand part and jumped up again in anger. “I hate you, Béla Bartók!” he hissed aloud at the piano. It sat there in silence. After all, it was only a piano. Cas sighed heavily. He needed something different. He grabbed up his meager stack of piano music from the bookshelf next to the piano. The only thing he could even stomach trying was that Rachmaninoff piece he’d been practicing for the last few weeks. With a reluctant sigh, Cas opened it up, reseated himself, and began to play. Although his feelings about the piece weren’t uniformly positive, at least his left hand seemed to be behaving now.

After several minutes, however, he could feel his temper fraying––it sounded pathetic on its own, even if he was imagining the full orchestra in his head––and when he hit a bad note, he couldn’t take it anymore and sprang to his feet again. He was about to hurl a few choice imprecations at Rachmaninoff, but when he spun away from the piano he was greeted by the sight of a shocked-looking Dean in the doorway. Cas froze and stared back at him for what felt like an eternity. Dean was there? Dean... had been listening?

Finally the other boy broke the silence. “That was awesome. I had no idea you played the piano.”

“Well––” Cas glanced awkwardly at the instrument in question. “Um.” He swallowed, and gathered his thoughts. “I don’t practice regularly enough to call myself a serious musician. My attention span is too short for me to successfully learn the music I want to play.” He shyly approached Dean. “That was the first part of Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto number two. There’s supposed to be an orchestra. It sounds awful by itself. I hate it. I mean, I hate him.” Dean was still watching him, listening intently. Cas realized with a start that his siblings rarely paid this much attention to him. He felt suddenly compelled to spill out all his irritation to his willing listener. “I don’t know why I picked that piece,” he confessed. “It’s quite well-known, but I can’t stand to listen to it. I thought playing it myself might improve my relationship to the music. It hasn’t worked so far. I need a sea change. Something completely different. Do you have any recommendations for me?”

Dean looked caught out. “Uh, probably not. I mean, I don’t really listen to much piano music.”

“But you said you liked my playing just now.” Cas tipped his head and continued regarding the other boy.

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I mostly listen to rock, but... that sounded pretty cool.”

“You should broaden your horizons,” Cas decided. “Listen to various piano pieces and tell me which composers you like. I need more ideas. I’m stuck in a rut. I only have pieces by Rachmaninoff and Bartók, so I keep trying to play them, and I can’t, because I don’t like them so I don’t have the patience to learn them, but I don’t want to order sheet music for more pieces until I know I like them and can play them.” He sighed, remembering his frustrations of earlier. “It’s a vicious circle. A vicious circle of bombastic piano torture. I must escape it somehow. Are you at all hungry?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well, a little, but I didn’t come to bum food off of you. I actually just wanted to tell you, uh, that it’s fine with me if you want to use the hammock sometime. I mean, you went and found the frame and everything, so, like, if you ever wanna come over...” Cas stared at him, barely able to restrain a huge grin. Was this really the reason Dean had come over? The only reason? Apparently so, because he was still talking, nervously, as if it were a prepared speech. “If you ever want to come over and lay in it, feel free. I mean, if I’m not already there. Because that didn’t work too good last time with both of us.”

Castiel’s joy was tempered with amusement at noticing Dean’s grammatical mistakes. It was rather endearing, though. He felt a blossoming rush of affection inside him, and it almost made him giddy. Unable to think of an appropriate response, he said “Lie. Well.”

“What?” Dean was taken aback. “I don’t understand.”

Slightly embarrassed, Cas explained himself. “You said ‘lay’ and ‘good’ when you should have said ‘lie’ and ‘well’. But it doesn’t matter. Content is more important than style, and being kind is far more important than being right.” He paused, and this time he was unable to keep his smile entirely hidden. “Thank you for your kind offer, Dean. I will be certain to take you up on it. Will you be hammocking this afternoon?”

To Cas’s immense relief, Dean smiled back at him, just a little, and seemed to relax. “If I’m not allowed to say ‘lay’ and ‘good’, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to say ‘hammocking’. And yeah, actually, I was planning to have a _good lay_ in the hammock for an hour or so, reading Rousseau.”

Recalling that he himself had mentioned Rousseau just last week, Cas asked curiously “Really? What are you reading by him?”

“Um, it’s called _Social Contract_.”

Cas barely managed to keep from laughing. It was obvious that Dean had no clue about the work’s momentous historical import. He mentioned it the same way you might mention a little-known mystery author. Still, it was remarkable that he was tackling such a seminal piece of writing. Cas couldn’t deny that he was impressed.

He didn’t want the other boy to think he was laughing at him, so he merely said “A good choice, Dean. If you wish to discuss the book when you’ve finished, I should be pleased to do so with you. Perhaps over tea and petits fours?”

Dean chuckled. “Cas, you have the funniest way of talking of anybody I ever met. And what are petits fours anyway, like little iced cakes or something?”

“With marzipan!” Cas said enthusiastically, ignoring the nonsensical thrill he felt when Dean described his way of talking as ‘funny’. It clearly wasn’t a compliment, so why did it feel like one? “You have to make them with marzipan, otherwise they’re boring. I’ll make you some. I just bought some almonds, and I’m going to try making my own marzipan. Would you like to help?”

Dean quickly shook his head. “I don’t cook. Not my thing.”

“I see.” Castiel mused for a moment. “You read Rousseau and borrow screwdrivers and stick nails in trees, but you don’t cook. Is there anything else you DO do?”

“Sure,” Dean answered immediately. “I can fix pretty much anything that’s wrong with a car. The only reason I couldn’t help Anna the other day was ‘cause I didn’t have a jumper cable. And I, uh––I read other stuff too. Not just Rousseau.” Dean frowned for a moment and continued. “I’m pretty handy around the house. I can unclog a sink and stuff. And I may not play any musical instruments, but I can sing okay, and I know how to tune a guitar. Is that enough?” he asked playfully.

Cas was suddenly reminded of a television show that Gabe had been chortling about one day. It was about some washed-up rock star who was auditioning a bunch of girls to be his girlfriend. Castiel had thought it was the most stultifyingly idiotic concept for a show he had ever heard of. But standing here making Dean list his marketable attributes suddenly put a rather amusing spin on the whole thing, and Cas smirked to himself before coolly answering “Yes, that sounds quite satisfactory. You’ll do.” Dean’s confused expression was priceless.

***


	6. Chapter 6

Cas stood in the doorway and watched Dean cross the driveway back towards his own house. At his front door, Dean glanced back, and Cas wasn’t able to hide in time. He shrank back, embarrassed to be caught staring, but Dean just raised an eyebrow and vanished into the house. Cas did the same, shutting his own front door behind him and leaning against it like someone in a movie would. (He liked to do things that no one else ever actually did. He felt it gave him a unique perspective on life.) His house was dark and cool and seemed to be waiting for him to make a decision. Cas smiled slightly. It was time to tackle the kitchen. He was going to bake petits fours for Dean if it was the last thing he ever did.

Indeed, the baking process turned out to be far more difficult than he had anticipated. Cas had never seen himself as particularly scatterbrained, but he was beginning to realize that complicated multi-part tasks such as this came more naturally to other people than to him. Anna would have no trouble figuring out how to bake petits fours, he was sure. Mike probably could too. Luc, maybe. Gabe wouldn’t succeed, though––he had tried to bake cookies before, but he always ended up eating all the dough before it ever went into the oven.

Dean, for that matter, would probably be very good at this, Cas mused. He had that organizational type of mind. Cas didn’t. He found himself reading the French translation of the ingredients list on a box of cake mix and pronouncing the unfamiliar words to himself. Shaking his head to snap himself out of his reverie–– _Oh,_ he couldn’t help noting, _‘reverie’ has the French word for ‘dream’ in it_ ––he pulled out a bowl and poured the cake mix into it. The box told him to add vanilla extract, eggs, and milk. It didn’t specify what kind of milk. Cas tried not to panic. What if you were supposed to use whole milk? He was pretty sure they only had lowfat in the fridge.

Taking a deep breath, he set about pulling out the necessary ingredients, measuring them, and pouring them into the bowl. Too late, he realized the bowl he’d chosen was much too small––there would be no room to mix––and he had to get out another one and awkwardly transfer the liquidy mess. Quite a bit of it ended up getting on the counter. When it was finally mixed, he stood there in confusion, wondering what to do next, before suddenly remembering that the instructions were on the cake-mix box which he’d just thrown out. Having rescued it from the recycling, he peered carefully at Step Three and found that he’d have to grease and flour a pan.

At this point, Cas heard the front door opening, and a few minutes later Mike stepped into the kitchen, loosening the tie that was around his neck. He often went out dressed very professionally to talk to ‘clients’, and Cas had long ago given up trying to find out exactly what that meant. It was something to do with his and Luc’s mysterious business, and they kept it under wraps. “Hi, Cas,” his older brother greeted him. “Re-enacting Pompeii?”

Castiel frowned severely. “I’m baking. Petits fours. Do you know if it’s okay to use lowfat milk?”

“Hm?” Mike peered over his shoulder at the mess in the bowl. “Yeah, doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t use fat-free, but that stuff should be fine. What did you say you’re making? And why?”

“Petits fours. Just because.” Cas hoped he wasn’t blushing.

His hopes were in vain, however, because Mike immediately cottoned on. “A gift for the neighbors, eh?” He winked at his little brother as he removed his suit jacket. “Say no more. You doing okay there by yourself?”

“Not really,” Cas admitted. “I’m not sure how to grease and flour a pan.”

Mike sighed and began rolling up his sleeves. “Why am I not surprised? I’ll take care of that part, you keep mixing. That still looks pretty lumpy to me. Have you got the oven pre-heating?”

“The... what? Oh,” Cas said in disappointment. “I completely forgot I was supposed to do that.” He scanned the packaging again and set the oven to 350 degrees. “Oh dear, baking is so difficult. There’s so much to think about.” He let out a long sigh.

“Nah, you just need practice,” Mike reassured him, rubbing a stick of butter around the pan he’d chosen. “Have you got icing? Petits fours are supposed to be all covered with flowers and decorations, you know. And by the way, however many you’re planning on making, make twice that amount if you want them to survive the Gabe Attack. He’s out right now, but you know he’ll get home just as they’re popping out of the oven.”

Cas nodded, grateful for the advice. “I thought I’d make the icing while the cake is baking. I don’t know if I should put flowers on them, though. Dean might think that’s... kind of gay.”

“Well, isn’t that the whole point?” Mike chuckled. Not getting a response, he stopped what he was doing and turned to Cas, noticing the despondent expression on his little brother’s face. “Oh, come on, Cas, what’s wrong?”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Cas burst out, wondering why he suddenly felt tears pricking at his eyes. “I’m starting to think he’s not even... I mean, I don’t know if... if he’s gay. Or, even... I don’t know, if he’d be interested in me at all.” Having finally managed to get all these words out, Cas slammed his lips shut to keep them from trembling. It was stupid to get this nervous over a baking project.

Mike tipped his head to one side and considered Cas for a minute. “Hm. Does he strike you as the kind of guy who has likely ever done anything at all with another boy?”

“No, definitely not.” Cas was feeling more hopeless by the moment, but to his surprise a small smile appeared on his brother’s face.

“Well, that’s a good thing.” Mike began shaking flour into the pan. “You know why? Because if he’s never tried it, he can’t say he doesn’t like it. Just keep that in mind.”

Strangely buoyed by his brother’s encouragement, Cas returned to baking with new vigor, and soon he’d concocted a lovely marzipan icing for the cakes. When the cake had finished baking, he decorated three sample pieces with the icing, and each of the cooks tried one, staring critically into space as they chewed.

“It’s good,” Mike said.

“It’s too almondy!” Cas argued.

“No, I think it’s good.” Mike pointed to the last sample cake. “Why don’t you take this one to Dean and ask him what he thinks of it?”

Nervously, Cas did as his brother had suggested. Dean was in the hammock again, absorbed in a thick book. Cas approached timidly, holding the cake on a plate. “Hello, Dean.”

The other boy glanced up, shielding his eyes against the sun, and Cas felt his stomach do a little flip again at the sight of those green eyes. He mentally sighed, wondering if he would ever get over this stupid reaction. “Will you taste this and tell me what you think? I think I might have made the marzipan icing too almondy.”

Dean began to smile, and Cas’s stomach got even worse as he remembered the conversation he and Mike had had in the kitchen. He didn’t know how he’d survive if Dean turned out to be straight.

“Hey, is that a––did you make petits fours after all?” Dean asked in pleased amazement. “I didn’t think you were actually gonna.”

Slightly offended at the implication, Cas replied “Of course. I said I would, and I did. I used store-bought cake mix, but I think they still ought to be quite good. As I said, the marzipan icing is my own creation. And I added some almond flour to the cake mix as well.”

Dean put down his book––Cas couldn’t see the cover well enough to figure out what it was––grabbed the cake, and gulped it down. “Wow, that’s delicious, Cas. Are there more?”

It had taken Cas and Mike three bites each to eat their samples, but clearly Dean didn’t stand on ceremony. Cas gazed at him, slightly stunned. “You ate that very fast. Uh, yes, there are more. I haven’t iced the rest yet, though. I’ll bring some over later if you’d like.” He couldn’t resist asking “What are you reading?”

“Oh, that.” Dean’s voice got gruff. “It’s a copy of the Grimms’ fairy tales. I was just taking a look. They’re not actually that sissy, y’know. There’s lots of violence and stuff. This is the complete edition, in the best translation available.”

“I see.” Cas quickly adjusted his estimation of Dean inside his head. Only a real book-lover would read Grimms’ fairy tales as well as Rousseau. Could Dean be any more perfect? Cas couldn’t stop himself from adding, almost in a whisper, “Those stories virtually function as archetypes within Western society.”

Dean peered at him for a minute, the sun glinting off his eyelashes the way it had before. “Cas, tell me. Do all homeschooled kids talk like walking book reports? Or is that just you? Are you just that strange?”

Cas frowned. “I will assume you are attempting to compliment me in a roundabout fashion. Thank you. Now I am going to return home and continue icing cakes, and when I bring them to you I will expect a ‘thank you’ in return.”

“Oh, thanks,” Dean said obediently. “It was really good, seriously. I can’t wait to have more.”

Cas felt his chest flutter with pride as he returned to his house. He had baked petits fours, and Dean actually liked them. This was a wonderful day, a day of ultimate success. He didn’t even care if Mike was too busy to help him with the icing. Cas could handle it. He could handle anything today.

That sensation didn’t last, however, and soon he was feeling rather impatient again. It took another hour to ice all the cakes, wait for it to set, and then use the thicker icing to add decorative flowers and leaves (Cas had bravely decided to go all the way, ‘manliness’ be damned––after all, petits fours were supposed to be beautiful). When they were finally done, Cas was arranging them on a plate when he heard the front door spring open again, this time with such energy that it bounced off the wall with a self-pitying creak.

“Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the baking’s done!” announced Gabe gleefully, appearing in the kitchen at warp speed. “What’d ya make, huh? Cake! What kind? What the heck are these?”

“Petits fours,” Cas said, resigned to losing a good half of his creations.

“Whuh-dud-yuh-zay?” Gabe asked around a mouthful of cake, before swallowing and shaking his head. “Wow, you know what, I don’t even care. They’re so yummy! Who knew you had this hidden talent, Cassie boy? I will pay you good money if you make these things every day.” He grabbed four more and vanished, but not before calling over his shoulder “And by ‘good money’ I mean ‘Monopoly money’, just so we’re clear on that.”

Cas looked sadly at his decimated supply of cakes. Luckily, he’d been able to shield the three prettiest ones from Gabe’s ravages. He added the only remaining two to the plate, covered the whole thing with aluminum foil, and ventured over to Dean’s house.

To his disappointment, it wasn’t Dean who answered the door, but his shaggy-haired little brother. “Oh... er... I was wondering if Dean was in?” Cas asked politely.

The kid shook his head, eyeing the plate. “Nope. He and Dad headed off somewhere. What have you got there? I’m Sam, by the way, hi.”

“Hello, Sam. I’m Cas.” Cas stood there, suddenly insecure. Dean had seemed eager for more petits fours, but now he wasn’t even here. What if he’d only been being polite about them earlier? But no, that didn’t seem like something he’d do. All the same, Cas was rather at a loss, and all the emotion he’d invested in his baking project today suddenly looked foolish and childish from his current standpoint. “Well...” He swallowed and started again, holding out the covered plate to Sam. “I made him some petits fours. Could you, um, give him this when he gets back?” Remembering his manners, he added “You can have a couple too, if you’d like.”

“Cool, thanks.” Sam took the cakes, and Cas made his way home, feeling delicate again. He hated how he’d been in an emotional whirlwind these past weeks, since meeting Dean.

Entering the house, Cas encountered Gabe. “Hey baker-man,” his brother greeted him jovially. “Bake me a cake as fast as you can! Or, here’s another idea: come with me to a dance show tonight? Nobody else wants to, and I hate going to things alone!”

Cas tipped his head slightly. He’d never been able to understand most people’s aversion to doing things on their own. It seemed generally more distracting to him to do things with other people around. But he was willing to indulge his family when it came to these matters, and right now he had to admit he needed a distraction. “All right,” he acquiesced. “Where is it?”

“Just the next town over, but it starts in half an hour. Come on, let’s go!”

It turned out to be a belly-dance performance, and Cas wasn’t really surprised. After sweets of every description, one of Gabe’s biggest hobbies was attractive women, in every shape and form, and if they were gyrating in glittering and revealing costumes, so much the better. Well, so much the better for Gabe. Cas couldn’t stand it. The dances were lovely, but the music was inordinately loud, and the speakers were right behind where he and Gabe were sitting, so there was no escaping it. He spent the first half of the concert cringing in anticipation of every other note. At one point he could literally feel the bass vibrating... but wait, there wasn’t any bass in this music. Cas suddenly became aware that his phone was vibrating in his jeans pocket. The woman sitting next to him had evidently noticed it too––she was giving him a dirty look.

Cas quickly and quietly got to his feet, brandishing his glowing phone at Gabe as an explanation, and slid along the row of seats whispering “Sorry, excuse me, sorry.” Heading for the exit, he glanced at the phone. Unknown number. Oh well, he’d gone to all the trouble of getting up and sneaking out of the show; he might as well answer.

“Hello?” he whispered, tugging open the big door at the back of the hall and slipping out into the mercifully quiet corridor.

The voice that answered sent a gentle thrill through him. “Uh, hey, Cas, it’s Dean. Sorry to call you out of the blue like this. Your brother Mike gave me your phone number. I just wanted to say thanks for the petits fours. They were really good. Even if my idiot brother ate half of them by himself. Anyway, that was––yeah, great. So thanks.”

Cas stood in the dark with the muffled sound of the music still audible behind the closed door, and since he was all alone and no one was watching, he let a wide smile take over his face. “Dean. A phone is not a telegram. You don’t need to communicate your entire message in one breath.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean shot back. “The guy who talks like he’s from a century ago is trying to tell me something about technology? That’s cute.” _Cute?_ Cas wondered, but Dean kept talking. “Anyway, that’s not my entire message. I also wanted to say that you should look up some pieces by Schu––uh––Schubert and Schumann. ‘Cause you wanted something new to play, y’know.”

So the Renaissance man knew some classical music too! Curiouser and curiouser. “Really? Which pieces?” Cas asked.

“I dunno.” Cas could practically hear the shrug. “I’ve never listened to them.”

 _Ah well, nobody’s perfect,_ Cas reflected. “Well, do,” he ordered Dean. “Then tell me which pieces you like. And I’ll see if I like them too. And then maybe learn to play them.”

“Uh, I don’t have any recordings of classical music. I’m not sure where––”

Cas cut him off. “That’s not a problem. I can supply the audio. My father has an extensive vintage collection of LPs gathering dust in our parlor. I’m sure he has Schubert and Schumann somewhere in there. I’ll invite you tomorrow.”

“How do you know I’m not busy tomorrow?”

Dean’s voice was challenging, but Castiel took it in stride. “I didn’t say I’d invite you FOR tomorrow. I said I’d invite you, tomorrow.”

“Huh. Whatever. All right.” Dean sounded mollified. “Well, where are you, anyway?”

“At a dance performance. Gabe insisted that I come with him. He has a slight obsession with belly dancers. I do not find them quite as fascinating, but their skill is admittedly impressive. Or it would be, if the music were not distractingly loud. It’s the aural equivalent of garish,” Cas mused.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt you during a show. You shouldn’t have picked up.”

“Dean, did you not hear what I just said about the music?” Cas asked gently. “I was longing for an excuse to escape it. Any phone call was welcome. The prospect of speaking with you is positively pleasant in comparison to what I was suffering through.” He thought about it for a moment. “But then, it’s pleasant in comparison to most things.”

“So, what?” Dean answered. “Are you being that annoying guy who talks on his phone during a show?”

“No, Dean, I left the auditorium before I answered the phone,” Cas explained. “I am currently walking up and down the hallway.” This was at least halfway true––he’d walked down to the other end of the hallway, away from the doors with the pounding music behind them, but hadn’t headed back up it yet. He had always preferred to speak on the phone in privacy, and this dark corridor was perfect for it. He trailed his fingers along the rows of closed doors, wondering absently what was behind them all.

“What hallway?” Dean asked.

“The hallway of the Dearborn Performance Center. It’s in the next town over. They’re always having concerts and film series and dance shows and so on. We could go to one sometime if you want,” Cas shyly suggested. There was no answer, so he quickly continued talking. “Right now I’ve reached the end of the hall, and I’m trying to open the janitor’s closet. It’s locked. They always are. But that never stops me from trying.” He paused again briefly, but there was still no sound from Dean. “Is there anything else you’d like to know? What I’m wearing, perhaps?” he teased, hoping to break the suddenly strained silence.

“No, definitely not,” Dean practically spat. Cas was taken aback by his tone and almost dropped the phone. “Listen, dude,” Dean continued rapidly. “I don’t know if that comment about going to a show together was intended as, as, as like asking me out or something, but if it was, then you ought to know that I’m not into that. Like, I appreciate the hammock frame and the petits fours and stuff, but I wanna be upfront about this, y’know? I’m not––I don’t––I mean, that’s just not my scene.”

Cas held the phone tightly. He distantly became aware that he was now holding it in both hands, cupping them around the phone pressed against his left ear. He couldn’t breathe. All of a sudden it was as if the darkness of the corridor had sucked all the air out of his lungs. The only air left in the world was at the other end of the phone, wherever Dean was. Some part of Cas’s brain was able to step back and be an outside observer, offering its own dry commentary... _And here we see a sad little lovelorn specimen, alone in the dark on the edge of a panic attack. Pathetic._

“Okay?” Dean asked roughly, and it felt like eons since Cas had heard his voice. He felt dizzy. He didn’t want to accept what Dean was saying. He didn’t want Dean to hang up. He didn’t want to have to say anything.

“Okay,” he said, sounding strange to himself.

“Okay, great,” Dean answered. “Then, um, good night.”

“Good night, Dean,” Cas whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

Cas didn’t go back in for the rest of the dance show. He couldn’t face it. The music, the people, the light... he just sat on the floor in the corridor, holding his phone like a precious jewel. He spent a good ten minutes looking at Dean’s telephone number on the screen. Yesterday, if he’d somehow come into possession of Dean’s telephone number, he would have saved it to his contacts in the blink of an eye. Now, he didn’t know if he could. In any case, it was a moot point; after staring at it for so long, he now saw it in his mind whenever he closed his eyes, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget it even if he wanted.

Even as most of him went into shock, like a wounded animal, part of his mind was already rushing around doing damage control. _Okay, so he’s not gay. He’s not interested. He doesn’t want... anything with me. The next step is for me to get over him. I need to forget about him and move on._ These words caused an almost physical stab of pain in his belly, and Cas dropped his phone, tucking up his knees and wrapping his arms around them in a defensive position, hiding his face from the world.

 _Who am I fooling?_ he asked himself wretchedly. _This’ll never work. I love him._

Even in their silence, the words seemed to echo, and Cas lifted his head in shock. “I love him,” he whispered to the dark, testing the sound of it. _But that makes no sense!_ his brain brayed back. _I barely know him! I can’t love him! I can practically count the number of times I’ve talked to him on one hand!_

“Why?” Cas asked the silent hallway aloud. He realized with academic interest that he wasn’t crying. That fact alone was enough to distract him for a few seconds. Suddenly, he had a powerful longing to speak to his Father. Father’s advice, when he would consent to give it (which was rarely), could always be counted on. But Cas was here, alone with the silence.

He was barely aware of the time passing, but eventually the show must have finished, because the doors to the performance hall opened and bright loud people spilled out. The corridor was flooded with light, and Gabe’s toe was poking him. “Hey sadface. Why were you sitting out here in the dark? Who was that calling earlier?”

Cas lifted his head wearily. “Can we go home please, Gabriel?”

Cas didn’t often use his siblings’ full names, and Gabe paused in surprise. “Yeah, of course we’re going home. The show’s over. C’mon, on your feet.” He reached down and grasped Castiel’s hands, pulling him up to a standing position. “What’s wrong, buddy? You look shell-shocked.” Gabe narrowed his eyes up at his younger brother. “Was that somebody from home? Is everything all right?”

“It’s not important,” Cas blatantly lied, ducking to grab his phone from the floor and turning towards the door.

In the car, he slouched against the door, staring out the window at the night. Gabe prodded gently for details, even though Cas was as clammed up as he’d ever been. When they pulled into their driveway, Gabe hopped out and zipped around to the passenger’s side before Cas could even open his door. “All right, you don’t have to tell me what it was all about, but I’m not letting you out of the car until you at least tell me who it was.”

Cas knew how stubborn his brother could be. There was no point in holding back, especially when all he wanted was to get inside and climb into bed and wrap himself up in his blankets and sleep forever. “It was Dean,” he said quietly. “Will you please let me out now?”

Gabe took a measured step backward to make some space without saying anything, but his piercing eyes watched his little brother closely as Cas got out of the car and hurried into the house.

***

The next morning, Cas was awoken by tickling. “No,” he gasped weakly. “That’s not fair, stop! I’m asleep!”

“More like mourning,” came Gabe’s far-too-cheerful voice in response. “Mourning something that never even got a chance to live. Speaking of which, good mourning!”

These cryptic words slowly sank into Castiel’s consciousness, and he pushed himself into a sitting position and blinked owlishly at his brother. Then, in one heavy blow, the events of the previous night came back to him, and he collapsed into his pillow again, face-first.

“No you don’t,” was Gabe’s answer, and Cas felt himself being lifted bodily out of bed. His older brother might be small in stature, but when he was set on something there was no stopping him. Cas soon found himself sitting upright on the edge of the bed with Gabe cross-legged next to him. “It’s eleven a.m. You’ve slept for twelve hours. I think it’s time for you to at least rise, if not shine, grumpyface.”

Cas’s brain slowly cranked into action. “What did you say a minute ago? About... morning? Mourning?”

“You’re mourning the death of your relationship with Dean,” Gabe said succinctly. “A relationship which, pardon my honesty, never even existed. That is just pathetic. If you give it the good old college try and THEN it goes down like the Titanic, all right, you would deserve some respect and sympathy in that case. But this? This is silly! You’ve given up before even officially entering the race! Wake UP, dingbat, I’m talking to you!”

During Gabe’s tirade, Cas had been sinking toward his beckoning pillow once again, but it looked like that wasn’t going to work. His long night was clearly over, and the cruel reality of day lay before him. “Gabe, I... I can’t,” he mumbled. “He told me, in so many words, that he wasn’t interested.”

“Well, then he’s wrong,” Gabe decided, in a tone of voice that left no room for argument. “I know you, Cas baby, and you are a prize. Any guy ought to be groveling with thanks to have you. Even an idiot who thinks he’s straight.”

“Gabe,” Cas groaned, very much not wanting to be having this conversation right now, or, in fact, ever. “I think he actually IS straight.”

“I don’t think so!” Gabe shot back. “Not completely, at least. My Spidey sense is tingling.”

“You know your gaydar is dysfunctional,” Cas argued.

“I didn’t say gaydar, I said Spidey sense. Dude wears lime green boxers. That’s just not heterosexual.”

Cas’s eyes bulged. “You––how do you know that?”

“I have my ways,” Gabe cackled, before suddenly turning serious. “Now listen: I have one very simple assignment for you. It’s the simplest assignment that’s ever been given. You need to listen very closely. This is it: be yourself. Your real self. Show him the goods. Show him what he’s missing. Charm the pants off him––and you can interpret that any way you want, you unsullied maiden.” Cas glared, but Gabe blithely ignored it. “Just, you know, be true blue you, and don’t give up. I have a good feeling. I think you’ll hook this fish yet. Just gotta cast your line with energy, ‘cause you know, Denial is a deep river!”

And with that, he vanished, leaving a confused and very awake Castiel to mull over his brother’s metaphor-filled advice. He mulled it over while getting dressed, showering, eating breakfast, and drinking tea (a post-breakfast tradition in his household). Gabe had seemed very determined. And he’d somehow known what color Dean’s boxers were... Cas didn’t want to know how that had happened. He was bewildered, but Gabe’s forceful words kept ricocheting around his mind. His brother had seemed very sure of himself this morning.

Slowly, Cas felt a sureness of his own growing in his mind. There was still an ache within him every time he remembered Dean’s words from last night, and he didn’t understand why a friendly conversation had suddenly taken such a painful turn. Why had Dean sounded so defensive and almost scared? Was Gabe right––was Dean simply so far in the closet that he felt the need to attack anything that sounded too gay? More and more, that was beginning to look like the only logical conclusion, and Cas’s hurt began morphing into resentment.

Finally, late that evening, Cas knew what he had to do. He borrowed some of Father’s best letter-paper and, after a bit of thinking, began to write.

_An Invitation_

_To: Dean Winchester_

_From: Castiel_

_Mr. Winchester is cordially invited to tea at four o’clock on Sunday afternoon at the residence of your humble servant, to be accompanied by classical music in the parlor, followed by a discussion of the merits of various Romantic-era piano works. If this all doesn’t sound too gay, that is._

_RSVP_

Satisfied, Cas reread it, and then remembered something. Dean had said he wasn’t a big tea-drinker. Too bad. Cas’s new determination knew no obstacles. He added a postscript.

_P.S. I know you said you don’t drink tea, but have you heard of Lapsang Souchong? It is unique among teas. I believe the expression is ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.’_

With a smile, Cas folded the letter and tucked it into the envelope, on which he’d already scrawled Dean’s name, in his best attempt at an elegant cursive hand. (His training in handwriting had been rather patchy, mostly made up of imitating the way Father and Michael wrote.) He then licked the tip of the flap, pressed it lightly shut, and tiptoed out of his room and down the stairs. Yes, his determination knew no obstacles, but he’d still prefer not to meet anyone until he’d completed this mission.

The lights were on in the Winchesters’ house, but Cas didn’t knock. Instead, he listened briefly at the front door to make sure no one was around, and then pushed the letter underneath it. Then he slipped off the creaky porch, back across the lawn and driveway and up his own steps, and shut his front door behind him before letting out a long sigh of relief.

His room looked out on the backyard, so he couldn’t see if Dean came over with an RSVP. Cas was able to make himself wait until midnight, after the rest of his siblings had gone to sleep, but then his curiosity got the better of him and he snuck downstairs. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a folded piece of notepaper sticking under the front door. On the outside was his name, and inside it said simply ‘Sounds great, see you Sunday’. Castiel smiled, just a little.

***

He slept well that night, but the next day, the nerves started. It got worse and worse all week, and when Sunday morning came, Cas was almost considering pretending to be sick and hiding in his room all day. Somehow, the rest of the family had found out about Cas’s last-ditch attempt to win Dean’s heart, and to his grateful relief, they all seemed to be 100% behind him. Anna popped into his room around two p.m. and said, in a casual tone that wouldn’t have fooled anyone, “Mike and Luc are holed up working, and Gabe and I are going to go check out the fair in the next town over. We’re making an afternoon of it, probably won’t be back till dinnertime. See ya!”

“Bye, have fun,” Cas responded weakly. At least he’d have his privacy with Dean. He wasn’t sure, at the moment, if that was a good thing or not.

At four p.m. the house was empty and quiet, and since no one was there to tease him for doing it, Cas went downstairs and flitted around peering out of the windows to see when Dean came.

He was right on time. The doorbell rang, and Cas thought for the briefest of moments that he might faint. Then he remembered to breathe, and went to answer the door.

Having not seen him in days, Cas was even more bowled over by the intensity of Dean’s presence than he had expected to be. It was all he could do to stiffly say “Hello, Dean. Please come in. I’m glad you could make it.”

Dean ducked his head almost shyly and stepped into the house. “Yeah, um, me too.” Cas had begun leading the way towards the kitchen when Dean spoke again from behind him. “Listen, I want to say sorry about the other day, on the phone... if I came across as rude or something. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just––I guess I can be kind of blunt sometimes.”

Cas stopped and slowly turned to look at him. Dean’s face was a mix of emotions, but mostly hopeful and scared. “And, um, tea and classical music definitely doesn’t sound too gay,” he added quickly, before looking horrified at his own words. “I mean, unless it’s supposed to be! I mean, obviously it’s not supposed to be––it’s not supposed, I mean it doesn’t have––it’s not anything, it’s––you––are you gay?”

The words had all tumbled out in a confused mess, and Cas realized with growing relief that the other boy was just as nervous as he was. The naïveté of his question was almost charming. “Yes,” Cas answered simply. “I take it you’re not?” Even asking this caused a twinge of painful memory, but Dean’s flustered response was distracting and amusing enough to be worth it.

“No! No, I’m not. I’ve never––no.”

Castiel tipped his head slowly to one side, unable to resist the opening. “You’ve never...?”

To his surprise and gratification, a definite blush arose in the other boy’s face, and Dean seemed to be utterly at a loss for words. “I––I––can we just have tea already?”

Cas gave a tiny nod, trying to restrain a smirk, and turned to continue heading towards the kitchen, unable to keep Gabe’s words from slipping back into his mind: _Not completely, at least..._ Maybe there was hope for him yet.

When they entered the huge dark Colonial-era kitchen, Cas couldn’t help noticing how obviously impressed Dean was. The Winchesters’ house was much newer, and even other old houses rarely had such a well-preserved interior. That was much of the reason that Father had been so drawn to this place. Cas lit the candles in the chandelier. “We won’t be in here for long,” he told Dean. “But it’s quite a dark room, and they improve the ambience.”

He set about heating the water while Dean continued to surreptitiously stare around him, only returning his gaze to Cas upon being asked what sort of tea he’d like. “You mentioned some sort of tea in your invitation,” Dean started awkwardly. “...I don’t remember the name.”

So he’d taken note of the postscript. Cas was glad to hear this. “Oh yes, Lapsang Souchong. It’s quite remarkable. You’ve never had it, have you?”

“I don’t think so. Like I said, I don’t drink tea much.”

Cas put the tea bags into mugs and poured the water. “Milk? Sugar?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “However it’s best. I’ll trust you on this.” For some reason, Cas found himself smiling as he added milk and sugar to both mugs. He noticed belatedly that he’d chosen Luc’s Heaven and Hell mugs. His older brother always claimed they were a good way to test people. Cas wasn’t sure how the test worked, but all the same he felt a brief pang of sadness when Dean picked the Hell mug.

After blowing out the candles, Cas again took up the lead. “The parlor’s this way. I’ve dug out my father’s Schubert and Schumann records. We’ll see if we can find any promising piano pieces.” Seeing that Dean was about to take a sip, he cautioned “Don’t drink yet. Give it a few minutes to steep or you won’t get the full flavor.”

In the parlor, Dean immediately sat down on the loveseat. Cas tried not to think about the significance of that. He certainly wouldn’t be joining his guest there––it was short enough that if two people both sat on it, they would be rather intimate. Cas distracted himself from this train of thought by shuffling purposefully through the stack of records, although they were already arranged chronologically. (What? He’d had to do _something_ that afternoon while waiting for Dean to arrive.)

Eventually Dean took a sip of his tea, and the reaction was quite rewarding. “Dude, this tastes like smoked meat!”

Cas bit back a smile and nodded. “It is smoked. That’s what gives it its special taste. Good, though, isn’t it?”

He risked a glance at Dean, who looked quite at home, relaxed on the loveseat with his mug held in both hands, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s crazy!”

Those green eyes met his, and Cas experienced the sensation that was now becoming quite familiar, as if something was flipping over inside him and leaving him vaguely dizzy. Except this time, he knew what it was, and while maintaining a calm outer appearance, he permitted one tiny corner of his mind to whisper treasuringly to itself: _love._

Dean took another sip and reluctantly modified his opinion. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Cas forced himself to say something, spouting out trivia while withdrawing a record from its sleeve. “Lapsang Souchong was the first black tea ever made. It’s a piece of history. Here, let’s start with Schumann’s _Kinderszenen._ I’ve heard about this one.”

As the afternoon continued, Dean seemed to feel more and more at home, laughing and arguing and getting caught up in the music and even accepting another cup of tea. And somewhere between Schumann and Schubert, Cas found himself face to face with the fact that he was irretrievably and undeniably head-over-heels in love with Dean Winchester. As day turned toward evening, the light grew long and warm, slanting in the windows and illuminating both boys in golden silhouette. They finally managed to agree on three pieces they both liked enough for Cas to learn to play, and he made a mental note to himself to order the sheet music.

Eventually, Dean’s mother was heard calling her boys to dinner, and he let out a sigh. “I should go.”

 _No, don’t go, don’t ever go again,_ Cas’s traitor of a mouth wanted to say. He swallowed the words and instead agreed, tucking a record back into its case. “Yes, I suppose so.” He gave Dean a shy smile. “This has been very enjoyable.”

“Yeah, I had fun.” Dean stretched both arms over his head, and his shirt rode up a bit, revealing a half-inch of tanned skin. Cas’s eyes zeroed in on it, against his will, and when the shirt had fallen back into place he felt like he could still see it. Vaguely he realized that Dean was saying something about his mug and holding it out towards him.

Cas took a measured breath and clambered unsteadily to his feet. “I’ll take it. Don’t worry about it.” He approached and took it out of Dean’s hands. If their fingers brushed in that moment, maybe it wasn’t entirely accident. The heat of the sunset light seemed to fill the room and amplify their breathing. A very clear plan of action struck Castiel so hard he was surprised his head didn’t ring like a bell.

“Okay. Well, um, thanks––”

“Dean, I think you should know that I’m courting you.”

The warmth and silence seemed to swell still further as Dean’s eyes grew larger and his mouth hung open. “Um––you––but Cas, I told you I’m not––”

“Yes. I don’t care.” Cas felt ultimate clarity. It was a good feeling.

“But––I mean, you can’t––I’m just not––” Dean stuttered.

“Dean,” Cas said patiently. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. You liked the Lapsang Souchong.”

And the look on Dean’s face at that moment was definitely one of the more pleasing things Cas had seen in his life.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel was beginning to get a pretty good idea of Dean. The green-eyed boy could be rather like a gazelle at times, all tawny and gorgeous and easily startled, always ready to run. He needed a careful hand. That was why Cas made a tactical retreat after his spontaneous declaration of intent. For the rest of the week, he purposefully avoided contacting Dean in any way. Instead, he turned to his family for advice. Anna’s practicality came in handy here.

“Well, let’s see,” she said, taking a bite out of a candy apple (inspired by Cas’s baking, Gabe had decided to make some sweets himself, and when everyone reminded him that candy apples were more of an autumnal treat, he stubbornly announced that he would make twice as many, just to prove that the seasons weren’t the boss of him). “You need to play on his interests.”

“How so?” Cas asked, tipping his head in confusion.

“That depends. What does he like?” she prompted.

“Um...” Cas rapidly scanned his memory. “Classic rock. And cars. And his family. And food. And reading. And––”

“Okay, okay!” His sister laughed, cutting him off. “That’s enough to start with. You’ve already tried food, and family is out, there’s nothing you can do there. Let’s look at what’s left: reading, music, cars. You can’t exactly buy him a car... what about reading, what does he like to read?”

“All sorts of things,” Cas said dreamily. “He’s a real literature lover. And he pays attention to the books I mention and looks them up.”

“Oh, he’s done that, huh?” Anna smirked. “Intriguing. Guess he’s not as much of a moron as I thought. But if he’s already reading them on his own, that doesn’t leave much for you to do. How about music, do you know his favorite bands?”

Cas frowned and stole a piece of caramel that was threatening to fall off Anna’s apple. “No, I don’t. He likes the oldies station.”

“Oldies, huh?” Anna looked thoughtful. “I heard there’s a blues-influenced rock band playing around here somewhere... tomorrow, I think. Hang on, let me check.” She pulled out her cell phone and hit a speed dial number. “Luc? Quick question: what was that band you were telling me about the other day? The one whose tour opener concert is tomorrow?” She listened for a second and then smiled. “Right, okay, perfect. Thanks, bro!”

Hanging up, she announced to Cas: “They’re called Astaroth. Tomorrow night is the party to mark the start of their new tour. Luc was telling me about them, and they sound pretty cool. It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”

Cas nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.” He sighed. “All right. I’ll ask Father if he can set things up.”

“You know he can, he always can,” Anna said confidently.

***

In the long quiet hallway, Cas stood still and took a single deep breath before venturing towards the far end. The hallway turned several times, leading through the maze-like upstairs. Father’s room was near the front of the house. He liked to be able to see everything that was going on.

A moment passed after his quiet knock, and then the door opened. Cas peered into the dusky cavern that was Father’s workroom. The children very rarely entered Father’s domain. Cas took one tentative step into the room, and then another. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the curtains must have been drawn tightly, because the room seemed to stretch back into a dim eternity, a space of soft cool comfort that revealed nothing but seemed to welcome him.

Cas swallowed and spoke into the darkness, his voice low and timid. “Father. You know I, uh, I’m in love with the boy next door.” There was never any point to beating around the bush with Father. If you lied to him, he knew. He didn’t particularly mind, but he knew. “And he’s being rather difficult, and I want to win his heart once and for all.” Cas took another breath. Father always gave you all the time you needed to explain. “So, I need two tickets to the private pre-tour party of a band called Astaroth. It’s taking place tomorrow night. I want to take Dean to it. I think he’ll really like it.”

There was amusement. Father said yes, he thought that could be arranged without too much trouble. Relieved, Cas thanked him and left.

***

That evening, tickets in hand, Cas gathered his courage and dialed Dean’s number. He still knew it by heart from the only time Dean had called him.

When Dean answered, his voice sounded very small. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. How are you?”

“Fine.” There was a brief pause, and then Dean added “Uh, how are you?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” Cas said politely. “I’m calling you because I got my hands on a pair of tickets to the pre-tour kickoff private concert of a certain band called Astaroth, and I was wondering––”

“Are you fucking KIDDING me?!” Dean interrupted. “You––that––they–– _what?_ How in the hell did you get tickets to––seriously? The pre-tour private concert? Like, _nobody_ gets into that! It’s a guestlist-only thing! How on earth did you––wait, were you about to invite me?” His excitement was palpable in his voice, and Cas couldn’t hold back a satisfied smile. _Thank you, Anna!_ he thought gratefully.

“Yes, I thought this might be your kind of thing. It’s about forty minutes’ drive from here and is taking place tomorrow night, starting at eight. Would you like to come?”

“Yes.” Even the single syllable was filled with joy, and the feeling spread to Castiel.

“All right, then. Come over here around seven tomorrow evening then, and we can leave right away.” When he hung up, Cas was still smiling. It was amazing how happy even the shortest conversation with Dean could make him. Now he just had to make it through the next twenty-four hours.

The next day at six, Cas tensely descended to the kitchen. It was time to pack supplies for their journey. Yes, the club where the concert was taking place was quite nearby, but Cas was learning that Dean liked to eat, and wasn’t it true that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach? With this proverb in mind, Cas started some water for tea, pulled out a large thermos, and set about making sandwiches like a madman.

Half an hour before the time they’d agreed on, Dean appeared in the kitchen. Cas wasn’t really surprised to see him––he’d found the waiting difficult as well. He hoped Dean wouldn’t offer to help, though. Cas was better at getting things done on his own, and the food preparations weren’t quite finished yet.

“I thought I would bring provisions,” he explained to Dean. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you? I made five different kinds of sandwiches, so you’ll hopefully like at least one of them. There’s egg-and-watercress, peanut-butter-and-blackberry-jam, provolone-and-prosciutto, tomato-basil-mozzarella, and apple-and-nutella. I hope this is acceptable.” He paused, examining the pile of supplies. “There’s also pomegranate-lime juice to drink, and I’m bringing tea in a thermos to keep it warm. You didn’t already eat, did you?”

“No.” Dean was grinning widely. “This... this is great, Cas. Wow. Can I help with anything?”

“No, no!” Cas quickly answered. “I’ve got everything under control. Just stand aside.” To his relief, Dean didn’t press the issue, but obediently stood out of the way and watched as Cas rushed around, putting all the sandwiches and the juice in a large bag and pouring the tea into the thermos. Finally it was all ready. “Let’s go.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Dean responded, playfully saluting him and following him out to the car. Cas was pleasantly surprised that there wasn’t more awkwardness between them after their last encounter––Dean seemed to be acting perfectly normal.

Anna had agreed to let Cas use her car. Its small size was a bit more manageable than Luc’s truck, but Cas still white-knuckled it all the way to their destination, while Dean happily chowed down on sandwiches. When they got to the club, Dean’s enthusiasm became even more evident. Once they were out of the car, Dean grabbed Cas’s arm and whispered “Do you even realize what a big deal this is?!”

Cas looked down at the hand holding onto him. There were a few different ways he could interpret Dean’s question, so he answered honestly “I don’t know. Excuse me, I have to get out our guest passes.” The tickets got them in past the guard with no trouble, and Cas watched Dean with amusement out of the corner of his eye, hoping the other boy wouldn’t hyperventilate with excitement.

Inside, it was very loud. And there were a lot of people. And many bright lights flashing. Cas immediately started grumpily wondering why clubs always had to turn up the music just a few notches too high to be comfortable. Was everyone in here already half-deaf? Maybe it sounded like a normal volume level to them. Cas hoped his ears wouldn’t suffer any permanent damage. Maybe when the live music started it wouldn’t be quite this intense. A few people jostled him, coming dangerously close to spilling their drinks on his arm, and Cas frowned, moving closer to Dean. He didn’t want to be left alone in the madding crowd.

Cas trailed around after Dean for a while, asking for a Coca-Cola at the bar when Dean ordered a beer. But when the band themselves finally came out, things got even crazier, if that was possible. It sounded like everyone in the club was yelling at the top of their lungs, and the bass coming through the amps was so heavy Cas could feel it in his stomach. Panicking, he fled to the men’s room. When he reached it, he took several deep breaths and tried to calm down. He was doing this for Dean, he reminded himself. If he looked closely at the mirror above the sink, he could see it vibrating from the force of the music that was leaking through from the other room. Cas sighed in frustration. Why did people enjoy these sorts of experiences? This was what he imagined the seventh circle of Hell must be like.

After a few songs, Cas began to realize he couldn’t spend the whole evening hiding in the bathroom. He’d have to go out there and just deal with it. He could hang around near the bar, which was on the opposite side of the main room from the stage. Luckily he found peanuts there, and sat on a stool and began eating them, feeling lonely and irritated. The music, if it could be called that, seemed to have no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

“This is awesome!” someone yelled next to him, and Cas jumped before seeing that it was Dean. “I didn’t think this was your kind of thing,” he added, and Cas was a bit relieved that Dean at least acknowledged this fact.

“No, it’s not,” he said, glancing over Dean’s shoulder at the band again.

“Oh.” Dean took a drink of his beer. Cas wondered how many he’d had already. "Hey, how did you get on the guestlist anyway? It’s super hard to get into this event."

“My dad managed it.”

“How?” Dean sat down on the barstool next to Cas.

Cas shrugged. “He can do stuff like that.” He didn’t feel like explaining the range of his Father’s influence right now.

“I never see your dad around. What does he do?” Dean asked.

"I'm not surprised you don't. He keeps to himself."

“What’s his name?”

Cas sighed and turned his eyes on Dean reproachfully. "Why all the questions? Are you more interested in my father than in me?"

“No way!” Dean looked embarrassed and quickly corrected himself, lowering his tone as the song ended. "I mean, damn it, not that I'm interested in you. I just have to hang out with you because you're the guy with the tickets."

The words cut straight to Cas’s heart, but he took a shaky breath and forced himself to make a joke of it. "Yes, of course. This is merely an arrangement of reciprocal convenience. You get to attend the event, and I get to be with you for a little while." Hmm. It hadn’t actually come out sounding as funny as he’d intended.

Dean broke their gaze and stared into his beer for a moment before tossing down the rest of it. Cas was startled by a hand on his back, and suddenly Dean’s mouth was next to his ear, shouting to be heard as the next song started with a crash of cymbals. “C’mon, have a drink. What’s your poison?”

“I don’t drink alcohol, Dean,” Cas told him, wincing. This song was even worse than the last one. "Now, could you please explain to me exactly what you find so pleasant about this relentless bass line and the distorted electric guitars?"

To his relief, Dean just laughed, and signaled to the bartender for another drink. “Okay, I’ll try. But only if you have some of my beer.”

Cas was ready to primly refuse, but Dean turned out to be very convincing, and after a few minutes he gave in and had a sip. It didn’t have much taste, but it wasn’t as unpleasant as he’d expected. He proceeded to take a small swallow every time Dean passed him the beer in between explaining what seemed to be the entire annotated history of rock and roll, and before Cas knew it his head was feeling a bit odd. Not necessarily in a bad way, though. “Noooo, Dean,” he protested finally, pushing the beer back along the bar. “It tastes boring. Why d’you drink this kind of thing?”

“Boring, huh?” Dean chuckled and peered hazily at the bottles along the back wall. “Hmm... well, then, what about... a gin-and-tonic! Hey, bar man!”

The bartender gave them a long look but eventually brought a suspiciously clear drink and placed it in front of Dean, who promptly pushed it over to Cas. “Try it. You might like that better.”

Warily, Cas sipped. It was surprisingly good. It didn’t even taste that alcoholic. He felt a smile spreading across his face, and Dean matched it with one of his own. “Ha! I knew it. You’re a G&T man, Cas.” Cas took the opportunity to stare longingly into Dean’s eyes for a minute, until the other boy dropped his gaze and finished his most recent beer. Cas was amazed that Dean could drink so much, although he hadn’t really been keeping track. And, well, actually, drinking didn’t seem that difficult after all––it didn’t take long for Cas to finish his gin-and-tonic.

It wasn’t until several minutes later that he suddenly became aware that, as long as his feet weren’t on the floor, he had no idea how far away it was. For some reason this wasn’t frightening. In fact, it was rather amusing. It was funny to slip off his stool and find his feet unexpectedly meeting the floor. He did this surreptitiously a few times while Dean continued to preach passionately about authenticity in rock music.

“After the seventies,” Dean explained with animation, “Most stuff was made for markets, not for individual listeners anymore. There was like, more, more... damn it, I don’t know the word... but like, less flexibility among types of music and stuff...”

Cas leaned forward and narrowed his eyes fiercely, hoping it might help him concentrate. “A growing stratification of genre subdivisions within the music industry?” He felt quite smug at having come up with this phrase.

“Yes!” Dean agreed, and Cas was even more pleased with himself. “So all that stuff like pop and new wave and everything was, like, made for the markets, not for the people. These guys––” he gestured vaguely towards the band, which Cas had almost forgotten about–– “They’re throwbacks to the age of individualism.”

Dean nodded to himself in satisfaction, and Cas leaned forward a bit further, captivated by the way those green eyes sparkled. They were more beautiful than any precious jewel he’d ever seen. For some reason he suddenly remembered what Dean had said earlier, about only hanging out with him because he had the tickets. A wave of agony flooded through Cas, and he clutched at the bar to keep from falling off his stool. What a pathetic life he was living, just indulging Dean’s every wish in order to spend a few more minutes in his presence. But Dean would never love him back, wouldn’t even know how Cas felt. There was no way to explain it.

“Cas?” Dean asked with a smirk. “Are you drink––drunk?”

Cas turned his empty glass in his hands. “I don’t know. I think, possibly, yes.” He chanced another shy glance up at Dean. There was a long moment of silence––well, comparative silence; although the music was still blasting in the background it seemed to have lost its importance––and suddenly Cas’s mouth was talking before his brain could catch up with it. “Dean? May I kiss you?”

Dean looked skeptical and raised his glass halfway to his mouth before putting it down again. Cas was horrified at himself. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He’d meant to be careful and slow... and, and hadn’t he actually pretty much given up on Dean anyway? He couldn’t remember. He just knew he felt naked right now, having laid all his hopes on the line. He fixed his eyes on his glass and found himself still talking. “I’m not going to make a move on you or anything. I just want to kiss you. I just want to know what it’s like.”

There was a very long pause, a pause that seemed to stretch in between the notes of the music, a pause in which neither of them breathed.

“Okay, I guess so. Sure.”

For a moment Cas was utterly confused, wondering where these words had come from. Then he met Dean’s eyes and saw the little smile in them, and a wave of shocked elation broke over him. “Really?” His selfish heart immediately demanded more, hungry, and his fingers itched to touch the other boy. “When––now?”

“Uh, yeah. But not here.”

Cas felt like he’d just won the biggest lottery of all time. “Outside?” he suggested in a voice barely above a whisper, already slipping from his stool to find his wobbly feet.

“Okay.”

The next minute passed in a daze of lights and sound as Cas made his way through the press of bodies towards the exit, almost painfully aware of Dean’s presence right behind him. Now that he was standing up, he could tell that he was actually quite drunk. The world spun lightly, not enough to send him to the ground, but then maybe something else was carrying him along at this point anyway. He didn’t feel subject to the laws of physics anymore––gravity was like a silly game that he no longer consented to play. He could do anything. He was going to kiss Dean.

When the heavy door had fallen shut behind them, the cold of the night bit at Castiel as he led Dean up the stairs, past the guard, and around the corner of the building. Then he couldn’t wait anymore. He pounced, barely able to keep himself gentle as Dean’s back struck the brick wall, eliciting a grunt from the other boy. Dean surged forward again to meet Cas, and his hands rose to Cas’s shoulders, one making its way up to the back of his neck. Cas felt like his hair must be standing on end, and he took one weak breath before tipping his head and pressing his lips against Dean’s. Cas felt Dean gasp into his mouth and for a moment he was sure he’d faint. His only anchor in the world was the grip he had on Dean’s shirt. He knew if he felt the other boy’s heat against the full length of his body right now, he would lose his mind entirely, so he forced himself to keep his arms in between them like a barrier, grasping the fabric in his fists so intensely it was a miracle it didn’t tear. He allowed himself to trace the tip of his tongue along Dean’s lower lip, but then quickly withdrew, scared of cueing the other boy’s flight instinct.

It was over too soon. In the heated inch of space between their lips, Cas drew in heavy breaths, trying to center and calm himself. He was dizzy with desire, and tentatively thrilled that Dean hadn’t changed his mind halfway through and pushed him away. Their breath mingled for one long moment in the cold air, and neither of them said anything. Cas felt tears pricking at his eyes, and he had no idea why. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely, unable to make himself meet Dean’s gaze.

***


	9. Chapter 9

Cas wasn’t sure how long they stood there, coming back to themselves as the night air sobered them up. Or it sobered him up a bit, at least; Dean still seemed pretty wobbly, and Cas felt a brief flash of shame, knowing that he wouldn’t have dared make his move if they hadn’t been drinking. Dean didn’t seem to regret it, though. In fact, when Cas stepped away, the other boy followed, unconsciously mirroring his movements and catching at Cas’s sleeve.

“Do you––” Castiel’s voice was rough, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“Nah.” Dean swayed there, giving Cas a thoughtful look.

“Okay, then.” Cas took a deep breath, and managed a shaky smile. “I think we ought to get you home and into bed.” He took hold of Dean’s elbow and began guiding him in the direction of the car.

“Yeah? Whose?”

“What?” Cas asked. His own head was still buzzing, and he distantly hoped he’d be able to drive okay.

“Whose bed?” Dean was smirking, and Cas blushed when he finally caught the meaning.

“Your own, silly. You’re drunk, I wouldn’t... let’s just go home.”

The silence in the car was dangerously lulling as they pulled out of the parking lot, but Cas felt more focused than he’d ever been. He supposed part of it was probably the deceitful influence of the alcohol, so he’d have to be extra careful on the road. But he knew that a good part of it had nothing to do with the drinks he’d imbibed. He was as aware of Dean’s warm sleepy presence in the seat next to him as if it were an extension of himself, and the dark night felt doubly alive as they drove through it, windows a crack open for the fresh cold air. Cas turned on the radio, not too loud, and found a piece he didn’t recognize on the classical station. It was fierce and glorious, filling his mind with images of mountains and woods.

The drive home took forever and no time at all, but Cas was too happy to worry about this paradox. With tender care he helped an unwieldy Dean out of the car and through his front door, luckily left unlocked because his parents were expecting him home. Cas was relieved not to encounter any of the members of Dean’s family as the two of them stumbled up the stairs. Cas paused at the top, adjusting his arm around Dean’s waist and sorting through his mind to deduce where Dean’s room must be. To the right, he determined, and pushed open the first door he found there with a recklessness that his sober mind would have been shocked by––what if he’d guessed wrong and it had been the parents’ bedroom?

But no, he’d guessed correctly, because after finding and flipping the light switch he saw walls covered with posters of classic rock bands and muscle cars, and couldn’t hold back a smile. Dean made a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a snore, and Cas lugged him over to the bed and carefully deposited him on it. For a moment he paused, hovering nervously over the semi-conscious boy, unsure what to do next. Dean’s vulnerability at this moment struck a chord in Cas, stimulating protective instincts he’d never known he had. He began untying Dean’s shoelaces.

“Hey, you found my room,” Dean mumbled into his pillow.

So he wasn’t entirely passed-out after all. “It was hardly difficult, Dean,” Cas muttered back. “After all, I’d already seen it from outside, I only needed to figure out how the inside of the house was set up. Move your leg.” He managed to lift Dean’s slumbrous form just enough to get his jacket and overshirt off. After hanging the former on the bedpost and carefully folding the latter, he arranged Dean’s shoes next to the bed, and then finally admitted to himself that he was just looking for excuses to stay a bit longer. Made daring by the alcohol still buzzing in his system, he perched on the edge of the bed and gently traced the line of Dean’s jaw with one finger. He so fervently wished he could just crawl under the covers and spend the night here, tucked up and basking in the warmth of the boy he loved. But even in his tipsy state, Cas knew that would be a bad idea. So, with painful reluctance, he made himself get up and slip out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house, heading home to his own empty bed.

***

The next morning, Cas drifted very slowly towards consciousness. The first thing he was aware of was footsteps on his bedroom floor. They seemed to be very heavy footsteps. His family knew not to wake him if they valued their lives, so who could that be? And more importantly, why did his head feel like a sack of sawdust? To be more precise, a sack of sawdust into which someone had pounded a few nails? He groaned and nested down harder into his ocean of blankets. The footsteps paused, and unwelcome sunlight flooded the room. Even with his eyes pressed shut, Cas could sense it.

“Rise and shine, sonny. How you feelin’?” That was Dean’s voice.

As much as Cas wanted to see the world in flames right now if it didn’t allow him to keep sleeping, that voice stirred something in him, and he couldn’t ignore it. He let out a heavy sigh and turned over, opening one eye to locate the speaker. “WrrrrrggghhDean?”

“Yup. I brought you breakfast. Come on, it’s already almost eleven. Don’t want to let the morning pass you by!”

Cas tugged the blankets up over his head. “I want to let life pass me by.”

“Aw, c’mon, it can’t be that bad,” Dean coaxed. “If you tell me where the aspirin is, I’ll go get you some.”

“I don’t want aspirin.” If he’d been more awake and in less pain, Cas would have explained that his family didn’t believe in taking drugs of any sort, but right now he didn’t feel like explaining anything. Finally giving up on sleep, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and squinted at Dean.

The other boy fished something out of a bag he was holding. “Here we go: Cheerios, food of the gods. Try some, seriously. Your opinion of life may rapidly improve.” He placed a bowl in the hands of Cas, who held it in obedient bewilderment as Dean dumped in cereal and milk, finally adding a spoon. “Go on, take a bite.”

Cas sighed expressively, but then did as requested. The cereal was good, simple and wholesome and gentle on his unhappy stomach. The pain in his temples slowly began to recede, and Castiel felt a bit more human. He gave his visitor a grateful glance. “Thank you, Dean.” The other boy nodded and seated himself hesitantly on the end of the bed, watching Cas eat with a conflicted expression in his eyes.

A door in the other end of the house slammed, and Dean started a bit. Cas placed his spoon in his now empty bowl and gathered his thoughts. There was no delaying this moment much longer. “I suppose you want to talk. May I at least shower first?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess. I don’t know. I mean, of course you can shower, I just... don’t know... if there’s anything to talk about.”

 _Oh Dean, always lying to yourself right up until the last possible moment,_ thought Cas wryly, stood, and stretched, saying aloud “There usually is. Excuse me for a minute.” He chose some clean clothing from his dresser and headed to the bathroom. During his shower he deliberately did not think about the boy sitting on his bed waiting for him. That would have been a recipe for disaster. He managed not to think about much of anything while toweling off and getting dressed. Then, it was time.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect, and during the short walk down the hall back towards his room, the butterflies in his stomach had been getting stronger and stronger, worse than they’d ever been before. But when he stepped into his room and met Dean’s gaze, they vanished. The look in those green eyes took his breath away. For the first time––finally––Cas felt he was seeing his own emotions reflected back to him from Dean’s own soul. It stopped him in his tracks. He tipped his head to one side and looked at Dean for a long moment, trying to preserve this sight in his mind forever. Eventually he was able to speak again. “What would you like to say, Dean?”

The other boy didn’t hesitate. Though he looked more nervous than Cas had ever seen him, the words tumbled out of his mouth with unstoppable momentum. “I, uh, I kissed you. I mean, you kissed me. But I let you. And I keep thinking I’m gonna freak out about it, but I haven’t yet. It––I actually liked it.” He paused for a split second, pressed his lips together, and then continued. “But, I don’t know why we’re doing this. I mean, we barely even know each other. How––how can that become anything?”

Cas took a breath, and chose his words carefully. “Dean, I am attracted to you. That happens sometimes, even when you don’t know another person very well. As for what you are feeling,” he added, “I can’t advise you there, because I can’t see inside your mind. Are you attracted to me as well?”

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, but at last Dean answered. “I don’t know. I guess, maybe? A little bit? But I’m not gay, though! So I can’t be!”

Cas sighed, and went to sit on the bed too. “Dean, ‘gay’ is not an all-or-nothing scenario. If you don’t want to be gay, you can be bi. Or you can be straight and just make exceptions. Like, for me, maybe,” he added, barely daring to say the words aloud.

“I can’t be with you,” Dean said, suddenly standing up and beginning to pace the room like a caged tiger. “I––you––you’re too nice. You’re always doing things for me. Like, you baked me petits fours. And found the hammock frame. And got those tickets to see my favorite band. And introduced me to Schubert and Schumann and Lapsang Souchong. And last night I got totally smashed and you brought me home and took care of me, even though you were pretty drunk too. I’ve had girlfriends, but none of them ever did all that stuff for me. I can’t––I can’t go gay just because you’re nicer to me than any girl ever was!”

Seeing the very illogical logic of Dean’s mind laid out like this, Cas felt a spark of amusement and hope. Was that all it was? That had been the only thing holding Dean back this whole time? Cas pondered for a brief moment before replying, needing to say the next part just right. “Dean. I’m not asking you to ‘go gay’. And anyway, you can’t, there’s no such thing. You are who you are. Sexuality is a moot point, and it doesn’t have much to do with this in any case. You only have to decide who you want to spend your time with. What you do during that time is nobody else’s business, and you don’t have to plan it all out in advance. You can just invent it as you go along, and forget all those silly names like ‘friendship’ and ‘relationship’ and ‘romance’. In the end, all that matters is this: do you want to spend your time with me?”

Dean abruptly stopped his pacing, standing right in front of Cas. He stared at the ground for a moment before meeting Castiel’s eyes. “Well, when you put it like that... yeah, I do.”

So there it was. After all that. There it was. Cas felt a smile spreading over his face, like light filling him from within. “Splendid.” His heart leapt, and he needed to do something, create something, right now. “Tell me, Dean: have you ever had scrambled eggs with turmeric? It sounds strange, but it’s really quite delicious. Come on, let’s go downstairs and make some.”

An answering smile broke out on Dean’s face, and the two of them walked out of the bedroom, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with gorgeous art by the stupendous [LilyLeTigre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyLeTigre)! Check it out [here](http://lilyletigre.tumblr.com/post/55845157299/a-mock-cover-of-sorts-its-fanart-okay-for).


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